M\ 


N 


AMY    RUSHTON'S    MISSION.       See  page  101. 


BOUNDBROOK; 


AMY  RusHTON's  MISSION. 


BY  A.  J.  GREENOUGH. 


"  And  the  Lord  said  unto  the  servant,  Go  out  into  the  highways  and 
hedges,  and  compel  them  to  come  in,  that  my  house  may  be  filled." 

LUKH   XIV.    24. 

"  lu  the  highways,  in  the  hedges, 
Have  you  taken  by  the  hand 
Any  poor  and  sinful  wanderer? 
Tell,  oh  1  tell  me,  faithful  Christian  band." 

Notes  of  Joy. 


BOSTON : 
CONGREGATIONAL  PUBLISHING  SOCIETY, 

CONGREGATIONAL  HOUSE, 


BEACON   STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  j-oar  1S7.3,  l>y 

THE  CONGREGATIONAL  PUBLISHING  SOCIETY, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


BOSTON  : 

STZHEOTYPED  BY  C.  J.  PETERS  &  Sow, 
No.  5,  WASHINGTON  STREET. 


CHAPTER  I.  PAGE. 

ARISTOCRACY ...7 

CHAPTER  n. 
GILBERT .14 

CHAPTER  m. 
A  CHANGE 25 

CHAPTER  IV. 

GOING  AWAY 31 

CHAPTER  V. 

BOUNDBROOK 39 

CHAPTER  vi. 
THE  SLEEPLESS  NIGHT 63 

CHAPTER  VH. 
AT  THE  WHARVES 64 

CHAPTER  Vm. 
"  NEW  THINGS  " 81 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  GREAT  PLEASURE 01 

CHAPTER  X. 

GILBERT  AT  BOUNDBROOK 103 

3 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XL 
REBELLION      ........      .       .       .    in 

CHAPTER  XIL 
NEW  LOVE  AND  LIFE    ......      ...    134 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
MAGGIE  BURNS       .......      •      •      .   147 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
TOE  "  OLD,  OLD  STORY  "     ........    163 

CHAPTER  XV. 
GOD'S  HARVEST      ........      .      .    182 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
LAST  DATS  AT  BOCNDBROOK      .....       .       .    198 

CHAPTER  XVTI. 
MRS.  RUSHTON        .....       ....'.    211 

CHAPTER  XVm. 
CUMMINGTON  SQUARE    .........   224 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
ROBERT  AND  ELSIE       .........    244 

CHAPTER  XX. 
GILBERT  AT  STOCKWELL      ........   255 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
GLIMPSES  .........       ...    267 


CHAPTER 
A  DISCLOSURE  ...........    282 

CHAPTER  xxnr. 
HELP  FOR  THE  ERRING  .........   296 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  HAPPY  HOME  ..........    317 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
IN  THE  HIGHWAYS  ..........    831 


CONTENTS.  0 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
IN  THE  BYWAYS 343 

CHAPTER  XXVn. 
TEMPTATION  AND  FALL 359 

CHAPTER  XXVni. 

TEMPTATION  AND  VICTORY  .       .       ...»      .       .376 
CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE  PARTY • 389 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
PLANS  AND  PURPOSES  .       .    •  .      .  -'  .       .       .       »•      .    412 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
A  NEW  MANHOOD 431 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
WORDS  FOR  THE  MASTER 444 

CHAPTER  XXXni. 
IN  THE  SEWING-ROOM   .       .......       .458 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
ELSIE'S  VACATION  .       .       .       .      .       .  •'.»      .      *      .    470 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
NEW  RELATIONSHIPS .      .       .    483 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
A  FIERCE  STRUGGLE      .       .       .       •'"«•      •      ..      .       .498 

CHAPTER  iXXVIl. 
THE  WIDENING  FIELD 609 


BOUNDBROOK; 

OB,  AMY  BUSHTON'S   MISSION. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ARISTOCRACY. 

OME  time  during  a  winter  of  the 
present  century,  there  might  have 
been  seen  just  at  nightfall,  at  the 
steps  of  a  small  hotel  in  one  of  our  New- 
England  towns,  an  elegant  equipage,  very 
much  out  of  keeping  with  the  general  aspect 
of  things  around.  It  seemed  as  if  the  gay 
horses,  as  well  as  the  evidently  impatient 
coachman,  felt  this,  judging  from  the  proud 


8  BOUNDBROOK; 

manner  with  which  they  champed  their 
silver  bits,  and  pawed  the  thin  layer  of  snow 
beneath  tKeir  feet. 

Presently  the  hotel  door  was  flung  open, 
and  the  obsequious  landlord  appeared,  at 
tending  a  gentleman  and  lady;  the  former 
lingering  a  moment  to  extend  his  hand  to 
a  little  girl,  who  was  apparently  bidding  a 
rather  affectionate  good-by  to  another  child 
of  her  own  age.  The  lady,  now  seated 
within  the  carriage,  called  somewhat  sharply, 
"  Amy ! " 

"  Yes,  mother :  I'm  coming. 

The  words  were  quickly  spoken,  but  the 
tone  was  sweet ;  and,  as  she  spoke,  the  child 
bounded  down  the  steps  to  her  father's  side, 
and  was  directly  seated  in  the  carriage. 

For  several  moments  there  was  a  profound 
silence  among  its  occupants.  The  child 
Amy  had  thrown  herself  back  among  the 
cushions,  as  if  contending  with  some  emotion 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.  9 

which  threatened  to  get  beyond  her  control. 
It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Rushton  laid  his 
hand  on  hers,  and  said  not  unkindly,  "  Amy, 
look  up  !  "  She  obeyed  instantly. 

"  Amy,"  he  said  again,  "  what  do  you 
suppose  we  think  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  papa,"  faltered  Amy. 

"  But  what  do  you  wish  us  to  think  of 
you  ?  " 

The  perplexity  in  Amy's  face  grew  deeper ; 
and  for  a  moment  she  made  no  answer. 
Then,  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  want  you  to  think 
well  of  me,  father." 

Mr.  Rushton  repressed  a  smile.  Mrs. 
Rushton  coldly  contemplated  both. 

Her  father  took  the  child  in  his  arms. 
"  Daughter,"  said  he,  "  you  know  how  we 
have  always  taught  you  not  to  associate  with 
any  one,  child  or  older  person,  who  seemed 
beneath  your  own  station  in  life.  I  think 
you  understand  this  perfectly ;  and  "  — 


10  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Rushton  severely  ; 
"and  you  have,  in  the  few  hours  we  staid 
at  that  miserable  hotel,  made  quite  an  inti 
mate  friend  of  the  landlord's  daughter. 
Now,  tell  the  whole  story:  have  you  the 
slightest  excuse  for  your  disobedient  con 
duct  ?  " 

Amy's  little  gloved  hand  went  up  to  her 
face.  It  was  an  involuntary  habit  she  had 
when  any  thing  troubled  her. 

"  We  are  waiting,  Amy,"  said  her  father 
presently. 

"Yes,  father."  Her  hand  was  removed 
instantly. 

"When  I  spoke  to  the  little  girl,  I  did 
not  think  I  was  disobeying  you ;  indeed,  I 
did  not,  mother:  but,  after  you  left  me 
alone  in  the  parlor,  she  came  in  crying. 
She  was  crying  because  her  brother  had  gone 
away  from  home  to  stay  a  long  time.  I 
don't  think  she  knew  any  one  was  there: 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  11 

she  did  not  seem  to  see  me  at  all,  but  just 
sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  cried ;  and  I  never 
thought  of  whab  you  said  about  my  talking 
with  people,  and  I  went  up  and  spoke  to 
her.  I  was  so  sorry  for  her,  mother!  and 
then  she  told  me  all  about  her  brother,  and 
how  she  loved  him  so  dearly,  and  "  — 

"  And  then,  I  suppose,  she  began  to  hug 
and  kiss  you ;  and  that  is  the  reason  your 
new  frill  is  all  crumpled  and  spoiled,"  said 
Mfs.  Rushton,  pointing  with  a  severe  coun 
tenance  to  the  article  in  question. 

Amy  looked  down  at  it  regretfully.  "I 
am  sorry,  mamma,"  she  said.  "  But  the  little 
girl  did  not  do  it ;  and  I  don't  think  she  was 
bold  at  all.  I-  am  sure  I  should  not  have 
liked  her  if  she  had  been.;  and  "  — 

"  There,  that  will  do,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Rushton :  "  you  need  not  say  any  thing  more, 
Amy.  —  You  hear  this  confession,  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  :  she  '  liked  her,'  the  landlord's  daughter. 


12  BOUNDBROOK; 

My  predictions  are  verified.  See  what  your 
favorite  principle  of  democracy  will  work 
in  our  family!  I  shall  not  meddle  with 
the  affair  further,  except  to  require  the  same 
confession  as  in  all  cases  of  disobedience." 

"  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  "  you  hear 
what  your  mother  says.  She  expects  you  to 
tell  her  you  are  sorry  for  this." 

"  Father,"  said  Amy  rather  pleadingly. 

"  What,  daughter  ?  " 

"  I  can't,  father." 

"  Can  not  say  you  are  sorry  to  have  done 
as  you  did,  Amy  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  father,  I  am  sorry  that  I  have 
displeased  mother ;  but  I  can't  be  sorry  that 
I  spoke  to  the  little  girl." 

"  Then  you  mean  to  say,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Rushton  rather  excitedly,  "  that  you  would 
do  the  same  thing  again  if  you  had  the 
opportunity  ?  " 

Amy's  cheeks  burned ;  and  she  was  silent. 


07?,  AMY  KUSSTON'S  MISSION.  13 

"  Very  well,"  continued  Mrs.  Rushton.  "  I 
shall  take  no  half-way  confession.  Either 
the  child  will  do  just  as  I  wish,  Mr.  Rushton, 
or  —  you  understand." 

Mr.  Rushton  whistled  softly  to  himself  in 
an  abstracted  way.  Then  he  took  away 
Amy's  hands,  which  had  gone  up  to  her 
flushed  brow,  drew  her  closer  to  himself, 
brought  the  carriage-wrappings  round  her 
more  effectually,  and  so  held  her  till  they 
reached  home.  Amy  went  to  rest  in  her 
dainty  little  bed  with  a  very  perplexed  heart. 


CHAPTER  H. 

GILBERT. 

NARROW,  dirty  street;  a  row  of 
high,  closely-packed  tenement-houses 
on  either  side ;  groups  of  ill-clad  men, 
women,  and  children,  hurrying  along,  jostling 
one  another  rudely  as  they  passed ;  coarse 
laughter,  low  jests  and  oaths,  ringing  out  on 
the  pure  evening  air,  —  these  were  what  met 
the  eye  and  ear  of  Gilbert  Marvin  as  he 
turned  from  the  broad  main  street  of  the 
city  towards  the  house  which  held  the  one 
room  he  called  home. 

Noise  and  filth  were  everywhere.  With 
a  tread  and  bearing  of  unspeakable  disgust, 
he  made  his  way  along  the  sidewalk,  reeking 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  15 

and  slippery  with  the  refuse  of  the  miserable 
tenement-houses,  and  up  a  stairway  that 
swayed  beneath  the  pressure  of  his  feet. 
Reaching  a  room  in  the  third  story,  he 
stepped  inside.  The  two  occupants  of  the 
room  looked  round,  and  stared  at  him  with 
something  of  fear  in  their  strangely  expres 
sionless  faces. 

He  said  nothing,  but  sat  down  before  the 
fire.  Presently  the  woman  rose,  and  began 
to  set  before  him  on  a  rude  table  his  evening 
meal.  He  motioned  her  away  as  she  came 
near. 

"  I  don't  want  any  supper  to-night." 
"  Don't  ?  Why,  Gil  ?  "  said  the  woman  in 
a  sort  of  breathless,  suppressed  voice.  She 
put  down  the  cup  she  held,  and  stared  at 
him  as  she  had  done  when  he  entered.  "  I 
guess  you  will  eat,"  she  said  after  a  little 
while  :  "  you  don't  know  what  we've  got. 
Look !  —  pudding  and  pie  and  turkey,  Gil  I 


16  BOUNDBROOK; 

Somebody's  Thanksgiving :  it  s  just  over, 
you  know.  Eat  it:  I  saved  it  for  you.  He 
would  have  eaten  it  all,"  she  pointed  to  the 
man  crouching  by  the  fire :  "  now,  Gil,  eat 
it." 

"  Eat  it ! "  said  Gilbert,  looking  at  the 
food  as  if  the  sight  were  sickening.  "  '  Some 
body's  Thanksgiving ! '  Where  did  you  get 
it?" 

"  Don't  look  at  me  so,  Gilbert,"  said  the 
woman.  "  I  didn't  steal  it." 

"  You  begged  it !  " 

"No,  no,  I  didn't.  The  little  boy  below 
that  begs  cold  victuals,  he  brought  it.  I 
had  a  few  cents :  I  gave  them  for  it.  I 
thought  you'd  like  it,"  she  concluded.  "  Don't 
be  angry  with  me,  boy.  Eat  it,  taste  of  it ; 
it's  good !  "  She  looked  at  it  hungrily. 

"No,  mother,"  said  Gilbert  in  a  kinder 
tone,  "  I  can  not  eat  any  thing  to-night.  Eat 
it  yourself:  you  need  it  more  than  I  do." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.         17 

He  turned  away  from  the  table,  and,  leaning 
his  head  on  his  hand,  gazed  wearily  at  the 
smoldering  fire. 

The  woman  sat  down  on  a  low  stool  near 
him,  leaving  the  food  untasted. 

"  Mother,"  said  Gilbert,  "  why  don't  you 
eat?  Eat  it.  You  are  very  hungry." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  got  it  for  you, 
boy  :  you  hate  it,  you  hate  me.  But  I  didn't 
beg  it.  I  paid  for  it.  Yes,  I  paid  for  it,  — 
six  cents.  Somebody's  Thanksgiving  pudding 
and  pie  and  turkey.  It's  nice  and  rich ;  lots 
of  butter  in  it,  and  raisins ;  and  I  paid  for 
it,  —  six  cents,  —  all  I  had ;  and  you  won't 
eat  it." 

Gilbert  took  the  plate  in  his  hand,  and 
picked  out  a  piece  of  turkey  and  of  pie.  "  I 
will  eat  this,  mother :  you  and  father  must 
take  the  rest.  Indeed,  I  do  not  want  more : 
eat  the  rest.  I  can  swallow  this  better  if 
you  will." 


18  BOUNDBROOK; 

She  could  not  doubt  that  he  spoke  the 
truth  when  she  saw  the  effort  he  made  to 
swallow  the  small  quantity  he  had  selected. 
Her  own  and  her  husband's  portion  were 
quickly  dispatched. 

"  Where  yer  been  to-day,  Gil  ?  "  said  the 
man  when  the  last  morsel  had  disappeared. 
" Down  ter  the  wharf?" 

The  speaker  was  a  meager,  attenuated 
specimen  of  humanity,  with  bloodless  face, 
and  hands  that  trembled  incessantly.  His 
gray  hair  hung  in  thin  sprays  over  his  fore 
head  :  his  eyes  were  small  and  vacant.  When 
he  spoke,  although  he  directed  his  words  to 
Gilbert,  he  looked  at  him  only  for  an  instant ; 
then  his  voice  as  well  as  his  eyes  wavered. 
Its  thin,  sharp  twang  seemed  doubly  dis 
agreeable  to  Gilbert  to-night.  He  simply 
nodded  his  head  in  reply  to  the  question. 

"  He  didn't  see  you,"  said  the  woman. 
"  Speak  to  him !  tell  him !  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  19 

"  I  have  been  to  the  wharf,"  replied  Gil 
bert  with  an  effort,  turning  partly  towards 
his  father.  • 

"  What  yer  seen  ?  " 

• "  The  same  I  see  every  day,"  said  Gilbert, 
— "  rich  and  poor,  fine  clothes  and  rags,  smart 
folks  and  lazy  folks,  folks  that  have  to  work 
when  they  don't  want  to,  and  folks  that 
want  work,  and  can't  get  it."  t 

"What  else?  Seen  Rushton?"  Gilbert 
nodded. 

"  Do  tell  him,  Gil,"  said  his  mother  :  "  tell 
him  every  thing.  It'll  cheer  him  up  a  little." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  presently,  "  I  saw  Mr. 
Rushton." 

"  Speak  ter  yer  ?"  I 

«  Yes." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said,"  replied  Gilbert  slowly,  *'  that 
I  did  well  to  keep  from  idleness." 

"  Didn't  give  yer  nothing  ter  do  !  " 


20  DOUNDDROOK; 

"  No  —  yes,  "  said  Gilbert  reluctantly. 

"What?" 

"  He  left  his  little  giii  in  my  care  while  he 
went  to  the  other  end  of  the  wharf." 

"  His  little  girl ! "  exclaimed  both  his  au 
ditors.  Gilbert  nodded. 

"  Pretty  little  girl  ?  "  asked  his  father  with 
that  simple,  childish  look  again. 

"  I  hardly  know  :  I  think  she  was." 

"Didn't  look  at  her?  Didn't  speak  to 
her?" 

"  She  spoke  to  me,"  said  the  boy,  dwelling 
slowly  on  the  words,  as  if  the  recollection 
were  pleasant. 

"  Did  ?  "  exclaimed  both  again. 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  "  queried  the  man. 

"  She  said,"  replied  Gilbert,  evidently  with 
an  effort,  "that  she  had  begged  her  father 
to  bring  her  down  to  the  wharves,  so  that 
she  might  see  the  great  ships  and  the  water." 
Gilbert  stopped  ;  but  he  perceived  that  his 


OB,  AMY  KUSIITON'S  MISSION.  21 

audience  were  hanging  on  his  words,  and 
resumed,  "  And  then  she  told  rue  things 
she  had  learned  about  the  great  ocean  and 
our  country,  and  countries  far  off,  —  how 
she  wanted  to  go  to  see  them,  and  how  "  — 
.  "Well,  what?" 

"  And  how  she  wished  sometimes  she  had 
not  a  rich  father,  and  did  not  always  have  to 
act  and  speak  just  so  —  precise  ;  I  think 
that's  the  word." 

"  Precise  ?  what  is  that  ? "  said  the  old 
man  vacantly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  continued  the  boy :  "  I  can 
guess."  And  then,  turning  almost  fiercely 
upon  them,  he  exclaimed,  "  How  should  I 
know  ?  I  don't  know  any  thing.  You  never 
sent  me  to  school." 

"  But  you  know  so  much  without,"  said 
the  mother. 

"  Know  so  much ! "  cried  the  boy  ex 
citedly.  "  What  do  I  know  ?  "  Not  enough 


22  BOUNDSnOOK; 

to  understand  the  words  a  little  girl  can  use, 
not  more  than  nine  years  old.  1  know  so 
much!  I  remember  learning  a  few  little 
words  in  the  primer ;  and  then  we  came  to 
this  mean  place :  and  I've  never  seen  a  book 
since,  only  lived  here  in  this  dirty  room,  and 
gone  to  the  wharves  every  day  to  pick  up  a 
few  cents,  if  I  could.  You  know  I  don't 
know  any  thing,  —  only  to  do  work  that 
nobody  else  will  touch,  for  a  copper  or  two. 
There's  all  I'm  worth  to-night,"  he  conclud 
ed,  flinging  from  his  pocket  a  trifle  of  coin 
into  his  mother's  lap.  "  Perhaps  it  will  do 
you  some  good :  I  don't  want  to  see  it  again. 
Know  something,  do  I  ?  Amy  Rushton 
knows  every  thing  almost ;  and  she's  sorry 
because  she's  rich ;  and  I  hate  myself  because 
I'm  poor.  I  hate  everybody  that's  poor ! " 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  his  mother,  whim 
pering,  and  putting  her  apron  to  her  eyes. 
"  You  hate  your  father  and  me.  You  hated 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  23 

the  turkey  to-night ;  and  I  didn't  beg  it,  I 
paid"  — 

"  There,  mother,  don't,"  interposed  Gil 
bert.  "  You'll  make  me  crazy  with  your  talk. 
Look  here.  I  want  to  know  the  truth  ;  and 
I've  a  right  to.  Am  I  your  boy  ?  Are  you 
my  own  father  and  mother  ?  " 

He  stood  before  them,  —  the  old  man  with 
his  thin,  bloodless  face,  and  wavering  eyes, 
and  the  woman,  crouching  on  the  floor,  star 
ing  up  at  him  with  her  dull  eyes  and  faded 
features  sharpened  into  something  like  fear, 
and  repeated  the  question  :  "  Are  you  my  own 
father  and  mother  ?  " 

"  Our  own  boy  ?  "  suddenly  exclaimed  the 
woman.  "  Why,  of  course,  of  course,  you 
are.  —  Isn't  he,  Jacob?"  and  she  laughed 
hysterically. 

"  Of  course,  our  own ;  of  course,"  repeated 
the  man.  "  Go  to  the  town  records  in  Stock- 
well.  Of  course.  What's  the  matter  with 
the  boy?" 


24 


BOUNDBROOK. 


Gilbert  sat  down,  weary  with  excitement. 
"  I  don't  believe  it,"  he  muttered ;  "  and 
some  day  I'll  find  out." 

Half  an  hour  later  found  old  Marvin  and 
his  wife  sleeping  heavily  on  the  rude  floor  ; 
while  Gilbert  sat  by  the  cold  stove,  his  head 
buried  in  his  hands,  thinking. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  CHANGE. 

'HE  same  evening,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hush- 
ton  sat  together  in  their  elegant  home, 
talking,  as  was  often  their  wont  of 
lateTof  Amy. 

"  If,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  "  I  remove  Amy 
for  a  time,  and  find,  that,  under  my  friends' 
instructions,  she  bids  fair  to  become  a  lady 
in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  I  shall  trust 
that  you,  Lucy,  will  receive  her  back  to  our 
home  lovingly,  and  let  her  be  to  you  what, 
if  not  repulsed,  she  certainly  could  not  help 
being,  —  a  gentle,  companionable  daughter. 
Will  you  not,  Lucy?" 


26  LOUNDBKOOK; 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  was  Mrs.  Rushton's 
reply.  "  Here  she  comes  now.  A  lady  !  " 
she  whispered  to  herself.  "  We  shall  see." 

The  child  had  advanced  half  way,  but 
hesitated.  With  intuitive  perception  she 
felt  that  her  entrance  had  arrested  the  con 
versation. 

"  Come,  Amy,"  said  her  father.  She 
approached  unhesitatingly  then  ;  and  he  lifted 
her  to  his  knee. 

"  You  are  a  very  little  girl ;  are  you  not, 
Amy?" 

"  Yes,  father,"  she  replied,  looking  up. 
"  I'm  little,  I  know ;  but  sometimes  I  feel 
very  old." 

A  sort  of  wistful  plaintiveness  in  her  tone 
restrained  the  laugh  that  rose  to  his  lips. 

"  What  makes  you  feel  old  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  It  is  a  strange  thing  for  a  child  not  older 
than  my  little  Amy  to  say,  —  a  little  child 
who  knows  nothing  about  sorrow  or  care  ; 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  27 

who  never  had  hard  work  to  do,  like  the 
little  children  we  saw  at  the  wharves  to- 
day." 

"  That's  it,  father,"  said  Amy. 

"  What  is  it,  daughter  ? ' 

"  It's  that  makes  me  feel  so. 

"That?     What?" 

"  Because  I've  learned  so  much  more  than 
they  have,  and  can  have  so  many  things  they 
never  can  have,  and  see  things  they  never 
can,  —  at  places  like  the  Museum,  you  know, 
and  the  Aquarial  Gardens." 

Mr.  Rushton  did  not  reply.  He  only 
stroked  the  little  hand  that  lay  so  near  his 
own.  •  •', 

"  Amy,"  he  said  presently,  "  mother  and  I 
are  talking  of  a  change  for  you." 

She  looked  a  little  troubled,  but  asked  no 
question. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  spare  my  little 
daughter,  indeed,  I  don't,"  he  added,  im- 


28  BOUNDBUOOK; 

pulsively  caressing  the  child  ;  "  but  it  will  be 
better  so." 

Mrs.  Rushton  rose,  and  swept  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Father,"  said  Amy  after  a  few  moments' 
troubled  silence,  "  must  I  go  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  must,  Amy."  She  put  up 
her  hand  with  a  quick  motion  to  her  eyes. 

"  Amy,"  said  her  father,  taking  away  the 
little  hand,  "  it  will  not  be  so  very  hard.  It 
is  a  beautiful  place  where  you  are  going. 
The  people  who  will  take  care  of  you  are  old 
friends  of  mine  ;  and  I  shall  come  often  to 
see  you,  —  very  often." 

"  But,  father,"  said  the  little  girl  sadly, 
"  sometimes  you  will  want  me  at  home  very 
much,  —  when  your  head  aches  ;  and  I  shall 
not  know  it,  and  can  not  come ;  and  I  shall 
want  you  to  talk  to  me  so  much !  " 

"Little  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Rushton 
cheerfully,  "  where  you  are  going,  there  are 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  29 

beautiful  woods  and  brooks  and  lawns  ;  and 
you  will  have  a  kind  lady  and  gentleman  to 
teach  you,  and  no  servants  to  be  always  about 
you,  which  you  dislike  so  much,  you  know. 
You  will  find  it  very  pleasant." 

"Papa,"  said  Amy  at  this  point,  "mamma 
says  there  are  no  ladies  in  the  country." 

"  There  are  some  where  you  are  going," 
observed  Mr.  Rushton  rather  gravely.  "  I 
shall  expect  my  little  girl  to  become  a  true 
lady.  There  are  many  different  senses  of 
this  word,  daughter,  which  will  be  made 
known  to  you  as  you  grow  up ;  but  I  care 
only  that  you  should  keep  in  your  mind  the 
idea  of  a  lady  as  I  have  taught  it  to  you. 
You  understand  me,  Amy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  And  do  you  think  you  can  bear  bravely 
the  loss  of  some  luxuries  you  have  been 
accustomed  to,  not  always  to  be  obtained  in 

the  country,  but  which  people  can  do  very 

t 


30  BOUNDBROOK. 

well  without.  And  will  you  learn  to  take 
care  of  yourself,  as  Mrs.  Percival  will  teach 
you?  for  you  will  find  it  a  very  different 
life  there  from  this." 

"  I  will  try  very  hard,  papa,"  said  Amy, 
her  eyes  filling. 

But  Mr.  Rushton  took  her  away  to  the 
library,  and  together  they  had  a  quiet  hour 
with  her  favorite  books.  Only  one  question 
Amy  ventured  as  Christie  came  to  take  her 
to  bed :  — 

"  How  soon  am  I  going,  father  ?  " 

And,  kissing  her  good-night,  he  replied, 
"  Not  till  the  spring  opens." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

GOING  AWAY. 

jjNE  night  in  the  early  spring,  Amy 
came  to  her  father,  as  she  always  did 
before  retiring  to  bed;  and,  as  he 
kissed  her,  he  said,  "  Amy,  you  are  going 
to-morrow  morning."  That  was  all ;  but  he 
caressed  her  as  if  he  could  never  part  with 
her. 

"  Father,"  said    Amy,  with  the   slightest 
perceivable  tremor  in  her  voice,  "you   are 
going  with  me  ?  " 
"  Certainly,  darling." 
"  And  mother  ?  " 
"  She  can  not  go,  Amy." 


32  BOUNDBROOK; 

Amy  nestled  in  his  arms  a  minute,  then 
looked  up,  and  said,  "  Good-night,  papa !  " 

"  Good-night,  little  daughter ! 

She  had  not  reached  the  door  when  he 
called  her  back.  But  her  little  hands  had 
already  gone  up  to  her  face  ;  and  he  met  her 
half  way,  and  lifted  her  to  his  shoulder. 

"  Amy,  don't  break  your  heart  over  this." 

"  Papa,"  said  Amy. 

"  What,  dear  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  send  me  away  because 
I  have  been  naughty  ?  " 

"  Have  you  been  naughty,  Amy  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  meant  to  be,"  said  the  poor 
child  with  a  burst  of  tears. 

"  No,  darling,  I  know  you  haven't ;  and 
that  is  not  the  reason  at  all.  You  can  not 
understand  it  now.  I  would  be  so  glad  to 
keep  you  here  !  but  I  want  you  to  be  edu 
cated  ;  and  it  would  not  be  best  for  the 
present.  By  and  by  my  little  daughter  shall 


OR,  AMY  BUSIITON'S  MISSION.  33 

corne  back,  and  we  will  all  be  so  happy 
together !  " 

He  said  this  in  a  low  tone  ;  for  the  child's 
maid  stood  at  the  door,  waiting.  Then  he  put 
her  down.  "  Good-night,  again,  daughter !  " 

He  turned  abruptly  away  to  the  window ; 
and  Amy  took  Christie's  hand,  and  was  led 
to  her  little  room. 

The  next  morning,  how  warm  and  spring 
like  it  was !  Christie  came  very  early  to 
dress  Amy,  and,  when  the  child  was  ready 
to  go  down,  very  respectfully  inquired  if 
her  little  mistress  would  sometimes  think  of 
her. 

"  Think  of  you,  Christie  ?  "  exclaimed  Amy, 
astonished.  "  I  couldn't  ever  forget  you. 
And  then  I  shall  often  come  home,  you  know ; 
and  you'll  have  me  to  take  care  of  just  as 
you  do  now.  Won't  you  ?  "  she  added ;  for 
something  in  the  girl's  face  awoke  a  doubt. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Miss  Amy,"  said  Chris- 


34  BOUNDBROOK; 

tie  ;  "  for  your  mamma  says  I  am  to  go  away 
too." 

Amy's  eyes  were  wide  open  by  this  time. 

"  Going  away,  Christie  ?  I  don't  want  any 
one  but  you  to  take  care  of  me.  I  don't 
believe  it ;  but "  —  She  hesitated  a  moment ; 
and  then,  opening  one  of  her  drawers,  she 
began  to  look  over  the  contents.  "  If  you 
should  go,  Christie,  —  oh!  I  hope  you  won't 
have  to,  —  I  want  you  to  have  something  of 
mine.  There's  my  coral  necklace :  mamma 
said  I  might  do  as  I  pleased  with  it.  See ! 
you  can  wind  it  round  your  wrist  twice  for 
a  bracelet,  so.  If  any  thing  should  happen, 
you'll  have  that  to  remember  me  by,  Christie. 
Don't  cry." 

"  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  forget  you,  dear  Miss 
Amy,"  said  Christie,  sobbing,  and  taking 
the  necklace  as  if  it  were  too  dainty  a  thing 
for  her  to  touch.  But  O  miss !  I'm  afraid 
I'll  never  see  you  again." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.  35 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  guess  you  will,"  said  Amy, 
trying  to  be  very  brave.  "  There,  some  one 
is  coming !  I  must  go.  Come,  Christie." 

They  had  just  reached  the  head  of  the 
stairway,  when  Mrs.  Rushton  appeared. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  she  asked,  pointing  to 
the  necklace,  unfortunately  still  in  sight. 

"It's  my  necklace,  mamma,"  cried  Amy, 
springing  to  her  side.  "  You  said  I  should 
do  what  I  pleased  with  it.  I've  given  it  to 
Christie  for  her  own.  Oh !  don't  take  it 
away  from  her,  mamma ;  don't !  " 

"Child,"  said  Mrs.  Rushton,  "how  dare 
you  speak  in  that  way  to  me  ?  —  Give  her 
back  the  necklace,  girl.  Do  you  hear  me  ? 
—  Amy,  take  your  necklace." 

The  girl,  still  sobbing  with  her  apron  to 
her  face,  held  out  the  gift,  which  Amy  took, 
and  then,  with  sudden  spirit  blazing  in  her 
blue  eyes,  dashed  it  on  the  floor. 

"If  Christie  can't  have  it,  I  won't.     It's 


36  BOUNDBROOK; 

not  mine.  I  gave  it  to  her.  Good-by,  Chris 
tie  ! "  And,  before  Mrs.  Rushton  could 
speak,  she  had  almost  flown  down  the  stairs, 
and  rushed  into  the  breakfast-room  with 
eyes  and  cheeks  aflame  still. 

Mr.  Rushton  was  there,  waiting  his  wife's 
appearance  at  table. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Amy  ? "  he  ex 
claimed. 

"  Only  a  sweet  fit  of  temper,"  replied 
Mrs.  Rushton,  entering  with  soft  tone  and 
graceful  motion.  "  Amy,  take  your  seat  at 
the  table.  —  Mr.  Rushton,  I  beg  to  be  excused 
this  morning.  When  this  child  has  learned 
to  be  a  lady,  she  may  come  back  to  Cum- 
mington  Square.  Good-morning !  a  pleasant 
ride  to  you."  She  was  gone  with  her  last 
words. 

Amy  had  looked  at  her  with  the  passion 
receding  from  her  face,  irresolute.  The 
revulsion  of  feeling  had  come.  She  could 
not  part  from  her  mother  so. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON 's  MISSION.          37 

"  Mamma  !  "  she  exclaimed,  springing  to 
the  door,  and  then  running  up  the  stairs  in 
search  of  her.  "  O  mamma !  let  me  speak 
to  you,  dear  mamma. "  But  Mrs.  Rushton 
had  reached  and  shut  the  door;  and  Amy 
threw  herself  on  the  floor  outside,  in  a 
passion,  not  now  of  anger,  but  of  remorse 
and  anguish  that  shook  her  little  frame. 

"  O  mother  !  "  she  sobbed,  "  let  me  in  one 
minute.  I  ought  not  to  have  been  so  angry. 
Mamma,  dear  mamma,  let  me  see  you.  —  O 
father!"  — 

The  last  words  were  an  appealing  cry  to 
Mr.  Rushton,  who  came  up  now,  and,  taking 
the  little  one  in  his  arms,  went  down  to  the 
library,  and  sat  with  her  a  long  time  before 
she  was  fully  calmed.  Then  he  told  her 
they  could  wait  no  longer,  and  must  go  at 
once. 

She  sat  up  and  leaned  against  him. 
"  Papa,  won't  mother  let  me  see  her  ?  I  can 
be  quiet  now." 


38  BOUNDBROOK. 

Mr.  Rushton  knew  his  wife's  inflexibility 
too  well.  "I  do  not  think  it  best,  Amy 
darling.  When  I  see  her,  I  will  make  it  all 
right  for  you  ;  and  when  you  come  home, 
you  can  —  maybe." 

She  looked  into  his  face  as  if  she  read  every 
thought  beneath  his  words,  and  drew  a  long, 
deep  sigh. 

"  You  said  it  was  better  for  me  to  go  away, 
father:  I  know  you  know  best." 

It  was  a  very  mournful  little  voice  that 
spoke  ;  and  Mr.  Rushton  felt  it  must  not  be 
so.  So  he  replied  cheerily,  put  her  down, 
and  bade  her  be  at  the  door  in  ten  minutes. 
He  went  out  to  order  the  carriage  ;  and  very 
soon  they  were  riding  swiftly  toward  Bound- 
brook. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BOUNDBROOK. 

?UST  before  dark,  the  travelers  entered 
a  small  country  village ;  and,  after 
driving  through  a  street  rather  sparse 
ly  lined  with  houses,  they  came  out  upon  a 
picturesque  landscape  beyond. 

"  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  "  this  is  the 
village  of  Boundbrook ;  or,  rather,  we  are 
leaving  the  village  itself  behind.  There  is 
the  little  country  variety  store ;  there  the 
schoolhouse  (you  can  hardly  see  it  among 
the  trees)  ;  here  the  pretty  piece  of  land  with 
trees  and  paths  which  they  call  "  the  Com 
mon  ; "  now  we  are  going  clown  the  road 

3d 


40  BOUNDBROOK; 

which  leads  off  a  little  way  to  your  new 
home.  You  see  how  beautiful  it  is  here,  do 
you  not?  At  the  foot  of  this  hill  there  is 
a  spring  beneath  a  great  willow-tree  ;  and  it 
runs  under  the  road,  and  out  over  the 
meadows.  Now  we  are  opposite  it  exactly. 
This  little  hill  is  called  Rock  Hill.  In  a  few 
moments  we  shall  be  at  the  house." 

Almost  as  he  spoke,  the  carriage  turned  to 
the  left ;  and  before  them,  on  a  little  elevation, 
around  the  base  of  which  glided  a  narrow  belt 
of  water,  Amy  saw  a  small  cottage  of  gray 
stone,  irregularly  shaped,  and  looking,  in  its 
dress  of  moss  and  circlet  of  trees,  as  if  it 
had  been  placed  there  by  the  hand  of  Nature 
herself. 

"  Father,"  said  Amy  under  her  breath,  "  is 
that  the  house  ?  " 

"  That  is  it,  Amy.     How  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  It  looks  nice,  father."  She  nestled  closer 
to  him.  • 


OB,  AMY  RUSUTON'S  MISSION.  4l 

"  You  are  not  going  away  to-night  ?  " 

"  No,  Amy." 

';  Father,"  said  Amy  again  slowly,  "  you 
will  not  forget  to  tell  mamma  I  am  very 
sorry." 

"  Do  you  think,  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton, 
"  that  you  are  really  sorry  ?  Or  is  it  only 
because  you  are  in  the  habit  of  saying  it  that 
you  want  me  to  tell  mother  so?  " 

He  watched  her  face  with  an  amused 
expression  as  he  spoke.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  brought  such  a  thought  to  the 
child's  mind;  and  now  it  was  mere  caprice 
on  his  part,  asking  the  question  to  see  what 
she  would  say. 

Amy  was  silent  a  moment.  "  I  think, 
father,"  was  her  reply  presently,  "that  some 
times  I  have  said  so  because  I  thought  you 
expected  me  to." 

Mr.  Rushton  did  not  like  the  gravity  that 
settled  upon  the  little  face  as  she  spoke,  and 


42  BOUNDBKOOK ; 

only  answered  lightly,  "  I  hope  you  will 
never  have  occasion  to  say  it  here,  Amy. 
Now,  look  out  at  the  house." 

Amy  looked  from  the  window,  and  took  in 
at  a  glance  a  very  pretty  picture  of  cottage, 
hill,  and  trees  (the  latter  in  their  first  delicate 
dress  of  green),  a  long  flight  of  stone  steps 
leading  up  to  the  front-door,  and,  dimly  seen 
in  the  fast-fading  light,  the  figures  of  a  lady 
and  gentleman  waiting  to  welcome  them. 

Long  after  she  had  grown  to  love  the 
house  and  its  surroundings,  she  remembered 
how  strange  was  the  impression  made  upon 
her  in  that  first  hasty  glance,  and  her  invol 
untary  wonder  whether  she  were  to  find 
ladies  in  the  country ;  remembered,  too,  her 
satisfaction  —  as  she  caught  Mrs.  Percival's 
smile,  and  was  taken  in  her  arms  —  to  feel 
that  her  father  was  right  (as  she  knew  he 
always  was)  when  he  said,  "  There  are  ladies 
where  you  are  going."  Mr.  Percival,  too, 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  43 

greeted  her  very  tenderly  ;  and  Amy's  heart 
was  at  rest  on  one  point. 

By  and  by  they  sat  down  to  a  nice  supper  ; 
and  Amy  noticed,  with  a  great  deal  of  won 
der,  that  the  gentleman  bowed  his  head,  and 
asked  a  blessing,  just  as  she  had  seen  a  min 
ister  do  once.  She  thought  it  very  strange 
that  her  father  had  not  told  her  she  was 
going  to  live  with  a  minister,  and  was  not 
quite  sure  that  she  should  like  it.  But  the 
supper  —  how  delicious  that  was!  More 
than  all,  to  Amy's  taste,  it  was  so  delightful 
not  to  have  a  servant  standing  behind  her 
chair  nearly  all  meal-time,  as  at  home.  She 
noticed,  Avith  a  very  pleased  face,  that  her 
father  took  it  very  quietly,  as  if  he  had  never 
been  accustomed  to  any  thing  else.  And 
then  the  servant  who  brought  in  the  hot 
muffins  stepped  about  so  noiselessly,  and 
Mrs.  Percival  spoke  to  her  so  kindly  and 
even  politel}7",  that  Amy  began  to  doubt,  at 


44  BOUNDBROOK; 

last,  if  she  were  a  servant.  She  had  never 
seen  any  thing  like  this  before. 

She  had  noticed,  however,  when  Mr.  Perci- 
val  said  grace,  a  very  slight  look  of  wonder  or 
disappointment  or  displeasure  —  she  could 
hardly  tell  which  ;  and  it  seemed  all  three  — 
crossing  for  a  moment  her  father's  face.  After 
supper  she  was  sure  she  saw  it  again,  still  more 
strongly  marked,  when  the  gentleman,  after 
calling  in  the  man-servant  who  was  employed 
about  the  place,  took  a  book  she  supposed 
to  be  the  Bible,  and  began  to  read.  Then 
he  prayed ;  and,  as  he  knelt,  the  family  knelt 
with  him.  Poor  Amy's  wonder  gave  way 
to  uneasiness.  She  could  not  tell  if  she  were 
expected  to  kneel  also  ;  but  she  finally  felt 
safe  in  following  her  father's  example,  who 
had  only  turned  round  in  his  chair,  with  his 
face  from  the  light.  Amy  could  not  see  its 
expression  now  at  all. 

After  the  prayer,  a  hymn  was  sung  ;  and  as 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.  45 

it  was  sung  by  sweet,  cultivated  voices,  Amy 
felt  as  if  that  quite  made  up  for  the  annoy 
ance  of  the  rest.  She  loved  to  sing  ;  but  a 
tune  like  this  she  had  never  heard  before. 
As  soon  as  it  was  over,  and  the  two  servants 
had  gone  to  their  accustomed  duties,  Mr. 
Percival  invited  Mr.  Rushton  to  his  study. 
Mr.  Rushton  assented  silently,  and  the  two 
passed  up  stairs  together  without  a  word ; 
but,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed  upon  them, 
Mr.  Percival  took  his  friend's  hand,  saying, 
"  You  are  surprised,  friend  Rushton."  The 
other  had  evidently  no  words  at  his  com 
mand  at  first.  He  turned  from  his  friend, 
and  walked  confusedly  about  the  room ;  while 
Mr.  Percival  waited  gravely  and  patiently. 

"  Surprised,  Percival !  "  Mr.  Rushton  broke 
forth  at  length.  This  from  you,  Percival ! 
Are  you  sane  ?  " 

"  Never  more  so,  I  believe,  friend  Rushton. 
More  than  that,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  hardly 
* 


46  BOUNDBROOK; 

been  sane  all  my  life  till  recently.  What 
once  seemed  to  me  folly  now  seems  the 
truest  wisdom.  What  I  hated  I  love  ;  and 
whereas  '  I  was  blind,  now  I  see.' '  Mr. 
Rushton  paced  the  floor  again ;  and  again  his 
friend  waited  patiently. 

"  That  you,  of  all  men,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Rushton  in  a  few  minutes,  stopping  before 
Mr.  Percival,  "  should  have  become  possessed 
with  this  religious  fanaticism  !  I  should  not 
have  been  afraid  to  have  staked  my  fortune 
on  your  remaining,  as  ever,  the  cool  reasoner, 
the  clear-headed,  the  consistent  disbeliever 
in  all  this  superstition  and  "  — 

Mr.  Percival  laid  his  hand  on  that  of  the 
excited  speaker ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  could  not  help  noticing  how  very,  very 
sad  was  his  countenance.  It  impressed  him, 
calmed  him.  Yet,  as  Mr.  Percival  did  not 
immediately  speak,  his  overwrought  feelings 
burst  forth  again  somewhat  less  vehemently. 

* 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  47 

"  And  Amy !  You  knew  that  I  would  have 
guarded  her  most  carefully  from  any  thing 
that  could  tend  to  this  ;  yet  you  have  allowed 
me  to  bring  her  here,  unconscious  of  it.  I 
should  not  have  expected  this  from  you, 
Percival." 

"  Hear  me,  my  friend,"  said  the  other. 
"  Not  until  very  recently  was  I  enabled  to 
cast  off  the  last  remnants  of  unbelief  cling 
ing  to  me,  and  accept  in  its  stead  the  eternal 
truth  of  God.  My  heart  had  been  trying  for 
months  to  fortify  itself  more  strongly  in  its 
intrenchments  of  skepticism  ;  but,  before  the 
new  views  which  had  been  presented  to  my 
mind,  all  my  efforts  availed  nothing.  No 
mortal  but  he  who  has  been  in  just  my  situa 
tion  can  have  any  conception  of  my  feelings 
as  I  felt  my  old  foundations  sliding  from 
beneath  me  like  the  sand.  Let  me  turn 
where  I  would,  every  thing  spoke  of  a  God, 
righteousness  and  justice,  and  judgment  yet 


48  BOUNDBROOK; 

to  come.  I  was  ashamed  that  I,  so  long  an 
avowed  skeptic,  should  allow  myself  to  give 
way  to  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  in  regard  to 
my  opinions.  So  I  kept  myself  away  from 
the  audible  voices  which  had  at  first  arrested 
my  attention,  thinking  to  collect  such  proofs 
and  testimony  from  my  stores  of  reading  as 
would  utterly  refute  them  all.  I  read  and 
read,  often  all  the  night  long  ;  and  in  the 
silence  of  my  own  room  would  exultingly 
say  to  myself,  '  I  have  found  incontrovertible 
proofs,'  and,  satisfied,  would  lay  aside  my 
papers,  and  rest.  But,  with  the  first  morning 
light,  how  often  have  I  risen  with  the  same 
uneasiness  at  work,  and  a  restless  turning  to 
my  strongholds,  to  make  sure  that  I  had  not 
been  mistaken  in  my  conclusions  of  the  night ! 
I  had  always  been  an  early  riser,  often  walk 
ing  out  long  before  the  sun ;  but  now  I  shrank 
even  from  contact  with  Nature.  The  very 
breath  of  heaven  condemned  me.  You  are 


OR,  AMY  RUSnTON'S  MISSION.  49 

weary  of  this,  friend  Rushton  ;  but  I  beg  of 
you  to  hear  me  through.  When  your  letter 
came  to  me,  with  the  new  year,  I  answered 
it  gladly,  — glad  of  your  confidence,  and  glad, 
too,  at  the  prospect  of  something  to  call  my 
mind  from,  these  distracting  thoughts.  But 
one  expression  of  yours  haunted  me  day 
after  day.  It  was  this :  '  I  trust  you  to 
educate  her  according  to  your  ideal  of  per 
fect  womanhood,  guarding  her  from  all  -con 
tact  with  fanaticism  and  the  common 
religious  credulity  of  the  masses  ;  for  I  find 
that  her  moral  training  thus  far  has  de 
veloped  a  gravity  and  seriousness  which 
might  be  easily  wrought  upon.'  I  answered 
your  proposal  in  all  good  faith,  my  friend ; 
for  it  would  afford  me  an  opportunity  of 
getting  new  strength  myself.  You  delayed, 
however  ;  and  the  barriers  of  my  unbelief 
grew  weaker,  but  I  had  not  then  courage  to 
write  you. 

4 


50  BOUNDBROOK; 

*'  I  will  not  tell  you  now  of  all  that  has 
passed  since,  —  how,  from  a  partial  accept 
ance  of  the  truth  of  Christianity,  I  was 
forced  to  yield  other  points ;  how  I  turned  to 
the  Bible,  and  found  my  own  condemnation 
on  every  page,  but  also,  thank  God  !  life  and 
redemption  even  for  me.  And  strangely 
enough,  and  yet  not  so  strangely  (for  God 
works  without  human  means  as  well  as 
with),  my  wife  had  been  contending  silently 
as  I  had  ;  and  I  had  the  delight  of  showing 
to  her  Christ,  —  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and 
the  Life. 

"  Now,  my  friend,  I  have  allowed  you  to 
bring  Amy  to  me ;  but  no  previous  agreement 
between  us  in  regard  to  her  shall  have 
weight.  We  can  not  take  her,  and  not  teach 
her  this  very  religious  belief  which  you  par 
ticularly  desire  she  should  not  accept.  With 
us,  however,  lies  only  the  teaching.  God 
alone  can  make  her  a  child  of  his  kingdom. 


OR,  AMY  RUSTITON'S  MISSION.  51 

I  want  the  child  ;  and  in  all  things  but  this 
she  shall  be  taught  according  to  your  wishes. 
My  means,  you  know,  are  not  what  they 
were  once,  when  you  and  I  stood  side  by 
side  in  commercial  life  ;  but  I  have  saved 
from  the  wreck  every  thing  necessary  to 
assist  one  to  a  complete  education  :  and  I 
assure  you,  it  will  be  an  unbounded  pleasure 
to  know  that  I  am  doing  service  for  you." 

Mr.  Rushton  had  listened  with  face  par 
tially  averted ;  but  now  he  turned  fairly 
towards  his  companion,  and  said,  with  the 
slightest  possible  tinge  of  fine  sarcasm  be 
neath  his  courteous  tones,  "  Friend  Percival, 
if  the  last  stage  of  this  religious  enthusiasm 
of  yours  is  of  so  recent  a  standing,  I  do  not 
fear  much  for  Amy.  Such  a  mind  as  yours 
will  return  to  its  balance  immediately." 

"  God  forbid,"  said  the  other  with  deep 
emotion,  "  that  this  should  be  a  matter  of 
my  intellect,  and  not  my  heart !  No,  Rush- 


62  BOUNDBROOK. 

ton,  although  ray  reason  may  be  and  is 
satisfied,  yet  my  soul  responds  to  this  with 
an  intensity  of  affection  which  proves,  I 
trust,  that  I  know  the  love  of  Christ,  which 
passeth  knowledge.  The  love  of  God,  the 
new  motives  I  feel  constraining  me  to  do 
and  to  be  all  I  should  for  his  dear  sake,  —  is 
that  the  result  of  a  merely  intellectual 
belief?  Oh,  no,  dear  Rushton,  no  !  " 

"  Mr.  Percival,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  turning 
abruptly,  "  excuse  me ;  but  I  hate  contro 
versy.  Will  you  allow  me  to  occupy  this 
room  to-night  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  sleep." 

Mr.  Percival  expressed  his  assent  most 
cordiall}",  and  withdrew. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   SLEEPLESS  NIGHT. 

JR.  RUSHTON,  when  the  sound  of  his 
friend's  footsteps  had  died  away,  went 
to  the  window,  and  raised  the  curtain. 
It  was  not  a  moonlit  night ;  but  the  stars 
were  bright,  and  their  rays  served  to  light 
up  with  a  soft  splendor  the  garden  and  the 
exquisite  bit  of  landscape  beyond,  —  the  lawn 
sloping  down  to  the  edge  of  the  blue  river, 
the  rustic  bridge  and  summer-house,  the 
scattered  shrubbery,  and,  to  the  right,  the 
grove  in  its  dress  of  delicate  green. 

Mr.  Rushton  leaned  by  the  window,  and 
looked  out,  scarcely  conscious  of  this.     Mr. 

53 


54  BOUNDBROOK; 

Percival's  narrative,  the  annoyance  which  he 
had  felt  in  listening  to  it,  came  back  to  him 
with  fresh  force  ;  and  he  felt  as  if  he  could  go 
down  stairs  and  take  Amy  away  instantly, 
imcourteous  as  it  might  be.  Then  his 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  time  when  he  had 
found  her,  not  far  from  his  own  door,  on  a 
chilly  night,  deserted,  probably,  by  wicked 
parents,  since  no  one  appeared  to  claim  her. 
He  never  knew,  he  never  cared.  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  had  a  large  heart,  full  of  tender  sym 
pathy,  which  responded  most  actively  to  the 
plaintive  cry  of  the  little  one.  How  well  he 
remembered  lifting  her  up  upon  a  granite 
block,  that  he  might  see  her  face,  the  tearful 
eyes,  the  expressive  sweetness  of  the  little 
mouth,  the  inarticulate  sounds  as  she  tried 
to  tell  her  name  !  He  could  not  even  guess 
what  it  was ;  and  so,  when  he  had  learned  to 
love  her  fondly,  named  her  Amy,  because  it 
had  been  his  mother's  name.  She  could  not 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  55 

have  been  more  than  three  years  old :  that 
was  six  years  ago.  He  took  her  to  his  home, 
and  procured  dainty  dresses  for  her ;  and  how 
•well  he  recalled  the  earnest  gravity  of  her 
countenance  when  she  surveyed  herself  in 
her  new  clothes  !  It  seemed  to  him  that  it 
had  marked  her  ever  since. 

To  him  she  was  a  child  set  apart  from  all 
others.  There  was  something  in  her  delicate 
reception  of  his  kindnesses,  and  something 
even  more  marked  in  her  timid  shrinking 
from  other  friends'  rather  bustling  offices, 
that  distinguished  her  above  all  children  he 
had  ever  known. 

She  grew  to  be  every  thing  to  him.  Let 
him  come  home  when  he  would,  there  was 
the  tiny  form  to  nestle  lovingly  in  his  arms, 
the  wise  little  utterances  of  thought  above 
her  years.  They  seemed  so  to  him. 

She  kept  him  from  many  a  folly  and  many 
a  vice,  unconsciously  to  himself,  however. 


6t>  BOUNDBROOK; 

At  that  time  he  was  immensely  successful  in 
his  business.  Sycophants  fawned  around  him. 
His  company  was  always  in  demand  at 
dinner-parties,  at  balls,  at  the  always  jocund 
club-room;  but  he  preferred  her  to  all  of 
these. 

He  had  then  been  married  several  years, 
and  was  childless.  Not  so  readily  as  his  did 
the  heart  of  his  wife  turn  toward  this  little 
one ;  for  pride  of  birth  and  station  had  deep 
root  there.  Yet  she  consented  to  receive  her ; 
and  Mr.  Rushton  felt  that  he  had  reached 
the  height  of  human  happiness.  The  rest 
we  know. 

And  now  what  had  he  done  ?  He  might 
have  placed  her  at  Madame  De  Witts,  a 
fashionable  school,  where  little  or  nothing 
was  learned  save  to  dress  genteelly,  to  walk 
and  dance  elegantly,  to  smile  languidly,  and 
converse  affectedly.  No :  he  would  not  have 
Amy  spoiled  by  any  such  arts  as  these. 


OR,  AM7  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  57 

But  again  he  could  not  keep  her  at  home. 
He  had  applied  to  his  friend  Percival,  with 
a  feeling  of  exultation  that  he  had  such  a 
friend, — wise,  kind,  a  distinguished  scholar, 
and  a  perfect  gentleman ;  and  now  that  he, 
cool,  thoughtful,  sincere,  should  have  be 
come  a  religious  fanatic  ! 

Mr.  Rushton  was  not  really  a  skeptic  ;  but 
he  had  always  admired  Mr.  Percival's  inde 
pendent  way  of  thinking,  the  cleverness  with 
which  he  would  pick  flaws  in  the  characters 
of  professed  Christians,  and  the  quiet  scorn 
with  which  he  ridiculed  the  Bible  as  a  tradi 
tion  handed  down  from  weak  minds.  And 
he  had  abhorred  the  stiff,  frigid,  upright,  and 
downright  sort  of  devoutness  which  he  had 
sometimes  seen,  —  a  religion,  as  he  thought  it, 
of  the  intellect  simply,  that  seemed  to  say, 
"  Stand  by.  I  am  holier  than  thou  ;  "  and 
whose  prayers  were  only  a  repetition  of  the 
Pharisee's,  slightly  modified  to  suit  the  times. 


58  BOUNDBROOK; 

He  pictured  to  himself  Amy  as  she  would 
graduate  from  Madame  De  "Witts, — pert,  silly, 
furbelowed,  and  bejeweled ;  and,  in  contrast 
with  this,  her  appearance  as  she  would  re 
turn  home  from  Mr.  Percival's  teaching, — 
with  lugubrious  countenance,  or  else  with 
eyes  for  ever  turned  upward,  after  the  manner 
of  some  pictured  saints  he  had  seen,  with 
her  sweet  mouth  drawn  down,  singing 
dolorous  psalms,  and  uttering  melancholy 
exhortations.  He  could  not  have  her  so, 
either. 

All  the  night  long  he  debated  with  him 
self;  sometimes  standing  by  the  window, 
sometimes  walking  back  and  forth  in  uncon 
trollable  agitation.  Restless  and  moody,  the 
early  morning  found  him  undecided,  and 
chagrined  at  his  indecision. 

Later  in  the  morning,  not  aware  that  any 
of  the  household  were  astir,  he  went  down 
stairs,  and  out  upon  the  lawn.  Following  the 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  59 

path  that  led  down  to  the  river,  he  suddenly 
came  upon  Mr.  Percival  and  Amy.  His 
friend  rose  to  greet  him ;  while  Amy  took 
possession  of  her  father's  hand.  "  I  was 
showing  your  little  girl  some  natural  beauties 
to  which  I  find  she  is  a  stranger,"  said  Mr. 
Percival,  and  added,  in  a  lower,  anxious 
tone,  "  I  kept  you  company  in  sleeplessness 
last  night,  my  friend.  But  has  it  effected 
nothing  for  you  ?  " 

"  You  kept  me  company  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Rushton  involuntarily.  "  Friend  Percival, 
you  should  not." 

"  Could  I  sleep  while  you  were  making  a 
decision  which  would  involve  so  much  ?  My 
dear  Rushton,  I  could  but  spend  the  hours 
in  prayer."  The  earnest,  loving  look  of  his 
noble  countenance  impressed  Mr.  Rushton. 
This  was  not  the  face  of  an  insane  man, 
or  of  one  who  had  given  himself  up  to  a  fit 
of  temporary  enthusiasm.  Involuntarily  his 


60  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Amy,"  said  he,  "  run  along  the  path  to 
the  river,  and  come  back  and  tell  me  what 
you  have  seen." 

He  watched  her  as  she  slapped  away,  with 
a  sigh.  "  Percival,"  said  he,  "  you  see  my 
weak  indecision.  If  I  could  know  that  the 
freshness  and  beauty  of  her  mind  would 
never  suffer  by  your  religious  teaching,  I 
would  not  hesitate.  But  I  can  think  of  her 
only  as  coming  back  to  me  with  a  distressed 
face  and  whining  voice,  reciting  odious 
psalms  and  hymns  particularly  suitable  for 
an  old  sinner  like  me." 

"  Mr.  Rushton,"  said  Mr.  Percival  after  a 
short  silence,  "  you  see  that  bird  swaying  to 
and  fro  on  the  tree-top  yonder.  Could  any 
thing  be  more  graceful  than  its  movements, 
more  fresh  and  sweet  than  its  song  ?  Yet 
God's  own  hand  made  it;  and  it  sings  his 
praises.  Would  it  sing  less  sweetly  if  it  knew 
to  whom  it  owed  its  beautiful  existence  and 


on,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.         61 

powers  ?  And  if  Amy,  please  God  !  should 
ever  love  to  sing  his  praises  too,  think  you 
she  would  lose  any  quality  you  admire  in  her 
now  ?  No  :  but  every  faculty  she  possesses, 
every  grace,  would  be  brought  into  still  more 
perfect  symmetry  and  beauty. 

"  I  do  not  need  to  continue  the  parallel," 
he  resumed  presently.  "  You  have  never 
denied  that  nature  is  the  visible  token  of 
God's  existence ;  and  the  God  that  delights 
in  creating  natural  beauties  such  as  these 
around  us  would  surely  not  delight  in 
causing  all  the  gifts  and  graces  of  a  beautiful 
soul  and  person  to  vanish  as  soon  as  that 
soul  had  learned  to  know  his  love." 

"  Your  reasoning  is  good,  friend  Percival : 
still  my  inclinations  shrink  from  the  trial. 
My  little  Amy,  so  artless,  so  single-hearted  ! 
Well,  be  it  so  for  a  while  at  least :  I  will  see 
what  a  summer  will  effect." 

"And  God  forbid,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Perci- 


62  BOUNDBROOK; 

val,  grasping  his  friend's  hand  warmly,  "  that, 
at  the  end  of  that  time,  you  find  her  less  art 
less  and  single-hearted  than  she  is  now !  " 

Mr.  Rushton  smiled,  but  as  if  he  felt  ill  at 
ease  ;  and  the  two  gentlemen,  now  joined  by 
Amy,  turned  towards  the  house.  In  a  few 
hours  Mr.  Rushton's  carriage  was  at  the 
door  to  convey  him  home.  Amid  her  sorrow 
at  parting,  Amy  yet  managed  to  whisper  a 
word  in  her  father's  ear  unheard.  "  Father, 
I  would  rather  you  would  not  tell  mother  I 
said  I  was  sorry  for  what  I  did  yesterday 
morning." 

"  "Why  not,  Amy  ?  "  he  asked,  astonished. 

"  Because,  father,"  her  hand  went  up  to 
shield  her  eyes,  as  it  so  often  did,  —  "  because 
I  have  been  thinking  perhaps  I  was  not  so 
sorry  as  I  said  I  was." 

O  little  Amy !  What  will  this  sum 
mer's  teaching  do  for  you  ? 

Mr.    Rushton     imprisoned    both     hands, 


OR,  AMY  KUSHTON'S  MISSION.  63 

looked  Amy  full  in  the  frank  eyes  a  minute, 
as  if  there  were  something  there  he  would 
fathom  to  its  very  depths,  then  gathered 
her  in  his  arms,  and,  giving  her  two  not  very 
quiet  kisses,  sprang  into  the  carriage. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AT   THE  WHAEVES. 

*R.  RUSHTON  went  back  to  his  home 
and  to  his  daily  visitations  at  the 
wharves.  It  was  more  a  matter  of 
habit  than  of  necessity,  his  going  there  so 
often,  and  mingling  so  freely  with  much  that 
was  coarse  and  gross,  doubly  so,  too,  to  his 
refined,  aesthetic  nature.  But  he  was  never 
contaminated  by  it. 

Gilbert  Marvin  went  to  the  wharves  every 
day  likewise ;  went  ragged  and  dirty,  as 
usual.  He  had  thought  he  would  try  and 
look  better,  hoping  he  might  some  day  see 
Mr.  Rushton's  little  girl  there  again.  But 

<H 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  65 

he  had  but  one  change  of  clothing :  what 
could  he  do  ?  He  had  to  stay  at  home  and 
manage  as  best  he  could  when  his  mother 
washed  that  (which  was  not  very  often,  to  be 
sure) ;  but  he  was  always  tormented  by  the 
fear  that  Amy  would  be  there  when  he  was 
away:  and  so  the  weeks  following  Amy's 
departure  were  to  him  a  season  of  harassing 
vexation.  And  still  she  did  not  appear. 

Gilbert  one  day  happened  to  come  directly 
into  Mr.  Rushton's  path  as  he  was  walking 
leisurely  about.  Mr.  Rushton  had  frequently 
a  word  for  the  boy ;  and  now  he  stopped  him 
for  a  moment's  questioning.  It  was  a  way 
he  had  of  amusing  himself. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  boy  ?  " 

Gilbert,  standing  confused  and  downcast 
before  him,  involuntarily  spread  out  his  dirty 
hands,  and  muttered  something  about  waiting 
for  work. 

"  Waiting  ?  Well,  that's  bad !    Your  hands 


66  BOVNDBROOK ; 

don't  look  very  ready  for  nice  work,  do  they  ? 
Hold,  boy  !  "  said  he,  as  Gilbert  was  edging 
off.  "  Look  up  here  :  your  name  is  Gilbert 
Marvin,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Rather  superior  specimen  of  the  class," 
said  Mr.  Rushton  to  himself.  "  Good  frame, 
fair  shaped  head,  eyes  well  set ;  look  as  if 
they  sometimes  had  a  thought  beyond  this." 

"  Well,  Gilbert  Marvin,"  said  he  presently, 
"  here  is  a  bit  of  advice  for  you.  If  you  want 
to  make  headway  in  the  world,  don't  stand 
waiting  for  somebody  to  push  you  along.  If 
you  want  to  know  more  than  you  do,  ask 
questions  at  the  proper  time  and  place,  and 
always  keep  your  face  and  hands  clean." 

His  tone  was  certainly  very  kind,  but  it 
disconcerted  Gilbert  exceedingly :  and,  by 
the  time  the  gentleman  ceased  speaking,  he 
had  bolted  off  as  fast  as  he  could. 

Mr.  Rushton  laughed  a  little  to  himself, 
and  walked  on. 


OR,   AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  67 

Gilbert  precipitated  himself  behind  a  huge 
pile  of  lumber,  and  soliloquized.  "  Dear  me, 
I  wish  I'd  asked  him  something  ;  but  then  he 
wouldn't  have  told  a  dirty  boy  like  me.  I 
wonder  what  makes  him  speak  to  me  !  Dirty, 
am  I  ?  Well,  I  know  it ;  but  what's  the  use 
of  trying  to  be  anybody?  How  the  boys 
would  laugh  at  me  if  I  should  wash  my  face 
and  hands !  I  wish  I  dared  to  ask  him  if  his 
little  girl  was  ever  coming  to  the  wharves 
again.  I  wish  I  dared  to  ask  him  about 
those  things  she  talked  to  me  about.  I  wish, 
—  oh,  dear !  " 

And  here  Gilbert's  head  went  down  be 
tween  his  dirty  hands  a  minute  ;  and  then  he 
jerked  it  up  again  as  if  he  were  ashamed,  and 
braced  himself  more  uprightly  than  before 
against  the  pile  of  boards.  There  was  no 
one  about.  It  was  just  noon-time.  The  men 
and  boys  who  usually  collected  about  the 
wharves  for  work,  or  to  while  away  time, 


68  BOUNDBROOK; 

had  either  betaken  themselves  to  some  place 
of  public  resort,  or  to  sundry  little  nooks 
among  the  lumber  to  eat  a  bit  of  dry  bread 
by  themselves.  And  so  the  utmost  quietude 
reigned  on  the  wharves  that  morning. 

What  a  day  it  was !  —  clear  blue  and  white 
in  the  sky  overhead ;  clear  blue  and  white  in 
the  water  below,  save  where  the  surface  was 
broken  by  ships  and  small  fishing-boats 
scattered  about.  There  was  the  finest  air 
abroad,  of  that  soft  yet  clear  quality,  that, 
with  its  subtile  touch,  penetrates  our  being 
through  and  through,  and,  while  giving  us 
impulses  towards  action,  yet  holds  us  com 
pletely  in  thrall.  We  feel  as  if  we  were  fully 
awake,  and  with  every  sense  on  the  alert ; 
while,  practically,  we  are  unconscious,  and 
dream  and  dream,  as  if  we  would  dream  on 
for  ever,  with  all  our  powers  in  just  that 
rare,  delicate  balance  between  inertness  and 
action.  It  is  a  state  of  delicious  semi-intoxi- 

p.a.t.irvn. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.          69 

Gilbert  braced  himself  against  the  pue  of 
boards,  and  endeavored  to  look  unwinkingly 
out  upon  the  water.  If  he  thought  by  this 
to  forget  himself  and  his  troubles,  he  took 
an  unwise  course.  No  mortal  was  ever  more 
easily  beguiled  into  thinking  of  self  than  was 
Gilbert  that  hour  he  sat  there  alone.  The 
far-off  voices  of  the  men  on  board  the  distant 
vessels  ;  the  occasional  soft  dashing  of  the 
water ;  the  bright  vision  of  sky  and  sea  ;  the 
fine  subtile  air,  bringing  to  him  just  the  faint* 
est  suggestion  of  pine-woods  from  the  freshly 
unladen  lumber  around,  —  what  wonder  the 
boy  was  lulled  into  building  air-castles  of 
marvelous  magnitude  ! 

He  fancied  himself  stealing  off  in  the  night 
in  a  little  row-boat,  which  he  knew  wel^ 
enough  how  to  manage,  to  that  schooner 
lying  off  there  waiting  for  a  wind ;  and  on 
board  her  he  would  go  to  distant  countries 
and  make  his  fortune.  He  would  never  go 


70  BOUNDBROOK; 

again  to  that  mean  place  he  called  home, — to 
the  two  people  there  who  called  themselves  his 
father  and  mother.  He  would  cut  himself 
loose  from  every  thing  in  his  life  thus  far, 
and,  having  made  himself  a  rich  gentleman, 
would  come  home,  and  astonish  Mr.  Rushton 
and  —  Amy.  But  she  would  not  be  a  little 
girl  then,  and  very  likely  would  have  forgot 
ten  him.  He  guessed  he  could  make  her 
recollect  him.  After  all,  what  business  had 
he  to  think  of  such  people,  —  he,  dirty  and 
ragged !  And  then  all  his  travels  round  the 
world  would  never  give  him  learning,  —  such 
learning  as  Amy  Rushton  had  already. 

Gilbert  went  over  this  perhaps  twenty 
times ;  his  eyes  meanwhile  fixed  upon  that 
Jar-off  schooner.  It  was  so  delightful,  the 
thought  of  rowing  out  to  her,  and  ending 
these  troubles.  He  knew  where  a  small  boat 
was  kept :  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  get  it. 
Already  he  saw  the  little  skiff  dancing  up 


OR,  AMY  KUSriTON'S  MISSION.  71 

and  down  with  the  waves,  felt  the  exertion 
of  reaching  and  hailing  the  vessel,  and  said 
over  to  himself  the  story  he  would  tell  the 
captain. 

While  Gilbert  sat  and  gazed,  suddenly 
there  came  cutting  through  the  air  a  sharp 
but  pleasant  whistle.  He  started,  and  looked 
about  him.  There  was  no  one  in  sight.  He 
ran  his  eyes  all  over  the  huge  mountains  of 
boards  that  rose  up  on  each  side,  and  glanced 
into  the  nooks  and  little  sheltered  places 
about ;  but  there  was  no  one  there.  The 
whistle  rang  out  a  second  time,  and  a  third, 
this  time  more  energetic  and  prolonged  ;  and 
Gilbert,  being  able  to  follow  the  sound,  caught 
sight  of  a  queer  face  peeping  at  him  from  a 
little  distance  among  the  boards. 

"  Three  times,  and  no  more,"  said  the 
homely  but  genial  face, — face,  we  may  well 
say  ;  for,  when  the  lips  moved,  every  muscle 
of  the  physiognomy  moved  likewise  ;  and 


72  BOUNDBROOK; 

its  owner  came  briskly  round  to  Gilbert's 
side.  "  I  thought  I'd  bring  you  the  third 
time.  Now,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  some 
thing." 

Some  perverse  spirit  moved  Gilbert  to  say, 
"  You  don't  know  nothing." 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  said  the  little  fellow,  amused, 
and  taking  a  seat  at  the  boy's  side.  "  You 
should  have  said,  '  Don't  know  any  thing.'' 
But  I  do  know,  I  think,  just  what  you've 
been  thinking  of  for  the  last  quarter  of  an 
hour." 

"  Don't  believe  it,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  Well,  we'll  see.  There  is  a  boy  who 
comes  down  to  the  wharves  every  morning 
to  find  work.  This  morning  a  gentleman 
spoke  to  him,  —  a  real  gentleman,  none  of 
your  make-believes.  He  told  him  some  true 
things,  set  him  thinking.  He  sits  here  and 
thinks,  —  thinks  how  he  wants  to  be  a  gen 
tleman  too ;  looks  at  the  ships  going  off 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  73 

to  foreign  lands,  and  wishes  he  could  go  off 
in  one  of  them." 

"Who  are  you?"  exclaimed  Gilbert,  now 
thoroughly  interested.  "  How  do  you  know 
what  I  think  ?  " 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  other  slowly,  looking  wise 
and  mysterious,  "  I  have  cognizance  of 
many  things." 

Gilbert  did  not  understand  all  the  words 
in  this  sentence  ;  and  something  like  respect 
for  the  little  fellow  began  to  take  the  place 
of  his  previous  emotions. 

"  And  he  thinks,"  resumed  the  dwarf  (for 
such  he  was,  having  been  a  hunchback 
almost  from  the  cradle),  "  that  he  does  not 
know  much.  He  does  not,  truly;  but  he 
need  not  study  many  books  to  know  all  that 
is  necessarj*-." 

"Needn't?"  exclaimed  Gilbert:  "what 
must  I  do  ?  " 

"  He  should  learn  to  read  well,"  said  the 


74  BOUNDBROOK; 

other;  ".and,  if  he  wishes,  I  will  teach  him; 
learn  good  English,  and  look  round  him 
meanwhile  ;  take  sharp  notice  of  men  and 
things ;  watch ;  keep  his  eyes  open  always. 
If  he  has  a  clear  head,  is  quick,  and  in 
earnest,  he'll  do  well." 

"  Do  you  know  every  thing  ?  "  asked  Gil 
bert  eagerly.  "  And  is  that  all  you  ever 
done?" 

"  All  I  ever  did,  you  mean.  No,  not  all : 
I  keep  reading  and  studying  now.  But  it 
will  give  you  a  good  start." 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  said  the  boy  in  a  dis 
couraged  tone. 

"Hoity-toity !  "  exclaimed  the  dwarf.  "  Is 
he  going  to  give  up  so  easily?  Then  I'm 
off!  "  And  up  he  jumped,  and  made  as  if  he 
would  go  away  ;  but  Gilbert  caught  him. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  he :  "I  want  you 
to  talk  to  me." 

"  No,  you  don't." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.          75 

"  I  do,  honest." 

"  Well,  then,  cheer  up  ;  for  I've  no  time  to 
waste  on  a  boy  that's  got  the  dumps."  The 
little  hunchback  sat  down  again  with  a  kind 
light  in  his  eyes  which  the  boy  did  not  fail 
to  see.  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Gilbert,  a  little  surprised, 
"  I  thought  you  acted  as  if  you  knew  me." 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  you  see  I  don't  know  every 
thing.  Are  you  the  presiding  genius  of  this 
wharf?  or  are  you  a  water-spirit,  or  son  of 
Neptune,  or  ?  " —  Gilbert's  cheek  was  redden 
ing  ;  and  the  little  fellow  stopped  his  banter 
ing.  "  What  is  your  name  ? "  he  asked 
kindly. 

"I'm  Gilbert." 

"  Gilbert,  Gilbert,"  repeated  the  other  mus 
ingly,  —  "  a  descendant  of  Sir  Humphrey  ?  " 

The  word  "  descendant "  Gilbert  partly 
guessed  at,  but  did  not  answer  the  question 
directly.  "  I  am  Gilbert  Marvin,"  said  he, 


76  BOUNDBROOK ; 

endeavoring  to  look  unconcerned  ;  "  though 
I  don't  know  as  the  last  name  is  my  name 
truly." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  dwarf,  with  a  quick, 
sharp  look  at  him. 

"  It's  the  name  of  the  people  I  live  with," 
said  Gilbert. 

"  Oh !  then  they're  not  your  father  and 
mother?" 

"  Why,  they  say  they  are,"  returned  Gil 
bert  a  little  confused.  "  But  I  don't  think 
I'm  like  them  at  all." 

"  Ah !  you  think  you're  made  of  a  little 
better  stuff  ?  " 

u  I  didn't  say  so." 

"  But  you  meant  it ;  "  and  the  little  fellow 
looked  at  Gilbert,  laughing  pleasantly. 

"I  don't  see  what  you're  laughing  at," 
said  Gilbert  rather  pettishly.  "  There's  no 
need  of  it,  I'm  sure." 

"  No,"  said  the  other  ;  "  perhaps  not.     I'd 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  77 

better  draw  my  face  down  —  so,  and  whine 
with  you.  That  would  be  a  great  deal 
better  ;  and  then  you  and  I  would  go  whin 
ing  about  all  our  lifetime.  That  would  be 
'jolly,'  wouldn't  it?" 

The  queer  faces  the  dwarf  made,  and  his 
emphatic  way  of  talking,  made  Gilbert  laugh 
this  time  ;  at  which  his  new  friend  seemed 
well  satisfied.  "  Now,"  said  he  seriously 
and  kindly,  "perhaps  you  think  my  advice 
not  worth  minding ;  but  it's  just  this :  I 
wouldn't  stop  to  think  any  thing  about  my 
real  relationship  to  these  people  at  present. 
If  you've  no  actual  reason  for  believing  they 
are  not  your  father  and  mother,  be  a  manly 
boy,  and  treat  them  as  if  they  were.  But 
you  may  fix  your  mark  higher ;  and,  if  there 
is  any  thing  in  you,  you'll  rise  fast  enough. 
You  won't  do  it  sitting  down  to  dream  and 
ivhine.  Be  wide  awake,  and  brisk  as  a  bee. 
Don't  look  glum,  as  you  did  when  you  threw 


78  BOUNDBROOK; 

yourself  down  here.  Don't  stop  to  stare  at 
the  ships.  Sometimes  it  wouldn't  hurt  you  ; 
but  'twon't  do  you  any  good  now." 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  who  you  are  ?  "  asked 
Gilbert. 

"  My  name  is  Robert  Bernhard,"  replied 
his  companion.  There  was  one  other  ques 
tion  Gilbert  wanted  to  ask,  but  did  not  dare 
to.  The  dwarf  saw  it  in  his  face. 

"  You  are  wondering  how  old  I  am ;  aren't 
you  ?  "  he  asked  pleasantly.  "  Well,  tell  me 
your  age,  and  I'll  tell  you  mine." 

"  I  don't  know  mine,"  said  Gilbert,  color 
ing,  —  "  not  exactly.  I  guess  I'm  about  four 
teen  or  fifteen." 

"  I  think  you  are.  And  I  am  twenty-five, 
and  not  so  large  as  you  nearly.  But  I  must 
go  now." 

"No,"  said  Gilbert :  "tell  me  who  Sir 
Humphrey  was  ?  " 

"  Good !  "  cried  the  dwarf,  much  pleased. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  79 

"  That's  one  way  to  learn.  Don't  be  afraid 
to  ask  questions  when  it's  a  proper  time.  Sir 
Humphrey  Gilbert  was  an  Englishman  and 
a  great  navigator ;  that  is,  a  person  famous 
for  making  voyages  on  the  water.  He  died 
over  two  hundred  years  ago.  Some  other 
day  I'll  tell  you  more.  Good-by  now  !  " 

He  was  off ;  and  Gilbert  rose  up,  and  went 
about  searching  for  work,  thinking  of  what 
two  people  had  said  to  him  that  day.  It 
was  strange,  this  day's  experience.  Would 
it  all  slip  away  from  him,  this  new  impulse 
he  had  received,  and  leave  his  mind  dark 
and  forlorn  again  ?  Let  us  hope  not.  He 
remembered  what  the  little  hunchback  had 
said  about  whining,  and,  clearing  his  brow, 
began  to  whistle. 

"  Here,  boy,"  said  a  man  coming  out  from 
behind  a  huge  pile  of  clapboards,  —  "  here's  a 
good  afternoon's  work  for  you,  and  a  round 
shilling  \v  hen  it's  done.  Lucky  you  whistled, 


80 


BOUNDBROOK. 


or  I  should  have  given  the  job  to  that  boy- 
yonder." 

Gilbert  went  to  work  in  earnest,  and  whis 
tled  merrily  all  the  afternopn. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

NEW  THINGS. 

UNE  drew  near  the  middle  of  her 
course.  The  gray  stone  cottage  had 
become  intwined  with  the  heavy  foli 
age  of  woodbine  and  honeysuckle ;  and 
the  shrubbery  scattered  about  the  lawn  had 
put  on  its  brightest  and  densest  green.  Mr. 
Rushton  had  been  once  alone  to  see  Amy, 
and  left  her  with  an  odd  feeling  of  regret 
and  gladness ;  for  he  could  not  perceive 
that  her  mind  had  in  any  wise  lost  either  its 
childish,  quiet  joyousness,  or  sweet  gravity. 
The  gravity  he  would  never  have  liked,  if  it 
had  not  been  that  which  gave  so  much  of 


81 


82  BOUNDBBOOK; 

force  and  character  to  her  words;  but,  as 
long  as  there  was  no  lack  of  freshness  and 
happiness,  he  could  endure  that  she  should 
be  sometimes  serious  ;  and  he  found,  to  his 
surprise,  that  with  the  same  earnest,  steady 
depth  of  thought  which  had  always  char 
acterized  her,  yet  she  was  more  light-hearted 
than  he  could  recollect  ever  to  have  seen 
her.  He  engaged  her  in  conversation  deeper 
than  he  had  ever  ventured  with  her  before  ; 
but  in  all  her  thoughtful  replies  there  was 
the  same  joy  shining  through  ;  and  not  more 
than  once  or  twice  did  the  very  grave  lines 
form  about  her  mouth  as  of  old  ;  nor  did  her 
hand  once  go  up  to  shield  her  face. 

"  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  when  he  was 
near  leaving,  "  what  shall  I  tell  mother  for 
you  ?  " 

"  Please  tell  her  I  should  like  to  see  her, 
father." 

"  I  will,  Amy.     Is  that  all?  " 


OB,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  83 

He  was  evidently  trying  to  draw  from  the 
child  something  relative  to  her  first  message 
home,  which  had  been  so  decidedly  recalled. 
But,  though  Amy  guessed  what  he  wished, 
she  was  either  not  ready  to  speak,  or  did  not 
wish  to  speak  at  all ;  for  she  sat  silent  by  his 

I  side,  looking  intently  from  the  window. 
But  this  position  she  soon  relinquished  for 
a  place  on  her  father's  knee,  which  enabled 
her  to  avert  her  face  entirely.  Mr.  Rushton 
waited  patiently  and  with  a  good  deal  of 
curiosity. 

"  Father,"  said  a  very  low  voice  presently. 
"  I  am  listening,  Amy." 
"  Will  you  be  angry  if  I  say  something  ?  "« 
"  That  is  what  I  want  you  to  do,  Amy." 
"  But  —  I  mean  something  about  —  God?  " 
"  You  may  say  just  what  you  please,  little 
daughter." 

With  that  Amy  sat  up,  and,  wrapping  both 
arms  about  her  father's  neck,  gave  him  a 


84  BOUNDBROOE; 

very  full,  sweet  kiss.  It  was  returned  with 
interest.  Then,  keeping  her  new  position, 
she  began  to  speak  again. 

"  Father,"  and  Mr.  Rushton  felt  a  closer 
clasp  of  the  arms  around  him,  "  I  have 
learned  something  very  new  here." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  learning  new  things, 
Amy."  But  he  did  not  mean  the  "new 
things  ".that  she  did. 

"  Are  you  ? "  There  was  a  clear,  glad 
ring  in  her  tone,  that  almost  made  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  start.  "  Did  you  bring  me  here  so  I 
might  learn  something  about  God  ?  " 

"  Why  —  no,  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton 
presently,  "  I  did  not  care  so  much  to  have 
you  learn  that ;  but,"  he  resumed,  without 
giving  her  time  to  speak,  "  so  long  as  it  must 
be  so,  I  will  not  object :  only  I  can  not  have 
my  Amy  any  less  happy  and  bright  than  she 
always  was.  Amy,  I  will  not  have  you 
going  about  with  a  long,  sad  face  on." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  85 

He  spoke  rather  vehemently  now,  ana,  at 
\ 

the  same  time,  drew  the  child  from  her  posi 
tion,  and,  reinstating  her  upon  his  knee,  scru 
tinized  her  closely.  She  bore  it  well. 

"  Father,"  said  she  presently  with  a  tiny 
smile  about  her  mouth,  "  I  don't  see  why  it 
should  make  me  sad.  I  was  sad  sometimes 
at  home,  because  I  knew  there  was  some 
thing  about  God  I  did  not  understand,  and  I 
could  not  ask  anybody ;  but  now  I  can  know 
all  I  want  to,  and  I  am  very  glad." 

Glad  !  If  ever  a  little  face  expressed  the 
fullness  of  contentment  and  happiness,  that 
was  Amy's  at  that  moment. 

Glad  that  she  could  know  all  she  wanted 
to  about  her  heavenly  Friend.  And  we  of 
riper  years,  day  by  day  coming  nearer  to  the 
hour  when  this  mortal  must  put  on  immor 
tality,  covering  our  eyes  that  we  may  not 
see  him,  and  stopping  our  ears  that  we  may 
not  hear  him !  Is  not  this  what  we  do  ? 


BOUNDBROOK; 

Ever  and  anon  God  comes  close  to  us,  and 
whispers,  "  Art  thou  not  now  ready  to  take 
me  for  thy  friend  ?  "  —  "  Nay,"  we  say,  "  not 
yet.  I  will  first  make  to  myself  a  friend  of 
man,  or  I  will  have  a  god  of  mammon,  or  of 
fame,  or  of  pleasure."  Oh,  so  many  of  us 
say  this  by  our  acts,  and  cheat  ourselves 
with  the  belief  that  we  are  voyaging  securely, 
and  will  anchor  safely  at  last !  Where  is 
the  anchor  that  can  bind  us  to  the  shores  of 
heaven,  when  we  are  practically  putting 
forth  every  effort  to  avoid  it  ? 

"  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton  after  a  while, 
"  has  this  any  thing  to  do  with  a  message  for 
your  mother?" 

Such  eyes  as  she  raised  to  his  !  —  their 
bright  gladness  touched  with  a  little  wistful 
doubt;  and  the  doubt  and  wistfuluess 
deepened  and  deepened. 

*'  Father,  that  is  the  only  thing  that 
troubles  me.  I  know  I  was  very  naughty ; 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  87 

but  then,  whenever  I  think  of  it?  I  can't  help 
feeling  a  little  proud  that  I  didn't  keep  the 
necklace  when  mother  told  me  to." 

"  Amy,  Amy  !  Deeper  and  deeper  you 
are  going  into  the  philosophy  of  right  and 
wrong."  That  was  what  Mr.  Rushton  said 
to  himself,  not  to  her.  He  only  passed 
his  hand  meditatingly  over  her  fair,  flushed 
brow,  and  said  nothing. 

Probably  he  had  nothing  to  say.  But 
Amy  was  very  deeply  disappointed  when  he 
put  her  from  his  knee  with  only  the  remark 
that  it  was  time  to  order  the  carriage. 

"  Father?  "  she  said  pleadingly. 

He  turned  round  as  he  was  going  toward 
the  door,  and,  noticing  her  standing  irresolute 
where  he  had  left  her,  held  out  his  hand. 
She  sprang  to  him  instantly. 

"  Father,  aren't  you  going  to  say  any 
thing  more  to  me  ?  " 

"  Amy,  I  have  nothing  to  say."     And  the 


88  BOUNDBROLK; 

child,  looking  up  into  his  face,  knew  that  he 
spoke  truth.  She  released  his  hand,  and 
walked  back  to  the  window  very  slowly. 
Could  it  be  that  her  father,  who  was  so  good, 
who  knew  so  much,  could  not  help  her  at  all 
about  this  ?  It  was  a  keener  disappointment 
than  she  had  ever  known  before.  She  had 
been  accustomed  to  lay  every  thought  before 
him ;  and  not  even  to  Mrs.  Percival,  whom 
she  loved  so  much,  could  she  confide  any 
thing  upon  this  point.  So  she  must  now 
keep  it  all  to  herself.  Never  to  be  able  to 
send  such  a  message  to  her  mother  as 
perhaps  she  ought,  because  there  was  no  one 

* 

to  help  her  feel  as  she  ought. 

So  Mr.  Rushton  left  Amy,  and  went  back 
home  with  a  mixture  of  regret  and  gladness. 
Mrs.  Rushton  saw  neither  in  his  manner,  and 
attempted  to  sound  him  a  little. 

"  Mr.  Rushton,"  she  said  to  him  after  he 
had  been  at  home  several  hours,  "how  did 
you  find  Amy  ?  and  what  is  she  doing  there  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  ItUSHTON'S  MISSION.  89 

"  I  found  her,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  "  very 
well  and  very  contented.  What  is  she 
doing  ?  She  is  running  about  the  woods  and 
fields,  feeding  the  lambs  and  the  ducks,  and 
making  as  rapid  advancement  in  her  studies 
as  I  could  wish." 

"  And  as  rapidly  advancing  towards  being 
a  lady,  I  suppose.  Feeding  lambs  and 
ducks!  ha,  ha!"  And  Mrs.  Rushton,  half 
reclining  upon  a  sofa,  put  her  delicate  hand 
kerchief  to  her  lips,  that  her  involuntarily 
loud  laughter  might  be  tempered  to  the  true 
genteel  softness. 

Mr.  Rushton  took  no  notice  of  her  innu 
endo.  He  had  become  accustomed  to  such 
things,  and,  if  he  had  not,  was  too  much 
absorbed  to  catch  it  now.  Probably  his 
thoughts  had  taken  a  far  different  turn ;  for, 
turning  to  her,  he  said  abruptly,  "  I  have 
never  told  you  that  I  found  Mr.  Percival  a 
confirmed  religious  enthusiast." 


90 


BOUNDBROOE. 


"  Religious  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rushton. 
"  Then  Amy  will  follow  suit.  A  pretty  time 
we  shall  have  here  if  she  ever  comes  back ! 
By  the  way,  is  her  temper  any  sweeter  than 
it  was  the  morning  she  went  away  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Rushton  slowly. 
"  Nor  was  it  so  much  ill-temper  then  as  it 
was  that  her  sense  of  justice  was  keenly 
wounded." 

"  Pshaw,  justice !  Has  she  ever  said  she 
was  sorry  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  very  sorry,"  was  his  reply. 
But  at  this  point  he  rose  up,  and  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  GBEAT  PLEASURE. 

:R.  PERCIVAL'S  visitors  were  few. 
The  neighborhood  was  very  quiet ;  and, 
from  one  week's  end  to  another,  Amy 
hardly  saw  any  persons  but  the  members  of 
the  family.  She  would  have  liked  it  other 
wise,  for  she  was  very  fond  of  having  many 
about  her ;  and  it  was  therefore  with  a 
feeling  of  great  pleasure  that  she  saw  one 
evening,  as  she  was  sitting  on  the  stone  steps 
in  front  of  the  house,  a  gentleman  coming 
up  the  graveled  walk.  She  rose  as  he  drew 
near,  and  answered,  in  reply  to  his  inquiry 
for  Mr.  Percival,  that  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs. 

91 


92  BOUNDBROOK; 

Percival  was  at  home,  but  they  would  prob 
ably  be  very  soon. 

"  Then,  with  your  permission,  I  will  wait 
for  them.  No,  thank  you :  I  will  not  go  into 
the  house ;  and  you  need  not  run  away, 
either,  little  girl,"  giving  her  his  hand  as  he 
spoke,  and  seating  her  beside  himself  on  the 
lower  step.  "Are  you  Mr.  Percival's  little 
daughter?" 

"  No,  sir  :  I  am  Amy  Rushton." 

"  You  see,  I  am  not  acquainted  here,  Miss 
Amy.  This  is  not  a  large  village  ;  is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  just  here,  sir,"  replied  Amy ;  "  but 
a  couple  of  miles  away,  where  the  mills  are, 
there  are  a  great  many  people." 

"  But  here  there  is  no  church,  is  there  ? 
Nor  a  sabbath  school?  "Where  do  most  of 
the  people  attend  church  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them  at  West  Boundbrook,  sir, 
where  we  do.  But  I  think  many  do  not  go 
anywhere." 


OR,  AMT  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  93 

"  Yes,  I  supposed  so.  Miss  Amy,  what  a 
pleasant  thing  it  would  be  if  these  could  be 
brought  together  to  hear  about  the  best 
things  God  has  done  for  us !  —  God's  '  un 
speakable  gift,' — his  '  unspeakable  gift,'  "  he 
repeated,  as  if  half  to  himself;  and  for  a 
while  he  seemed  to  forget  Amy,  who  took 
the  opportunity  to  take  closer  observation 
of  him. 

He  seemed,  even  to  Amy's  child-eyes,  to 
be  a  very  young  man.  His  hair  was  carelessly 
pushed  back  from  his  brow,  —  he  had  taken 
off  his  hat  on  first  seating  himself; — and  his 
face  was  clear  in  its  rosy-brown  complexion 
as  a  child's.  She  had  noticed,  when  he  spoke, 
that  his  mouth  was  very  pleasant,  and  his 
brown  eyes  kind  and  happy.  Altogether,  it 
was  a  face  that  Amy  liked. 

"  Little  girl,"  said  he  rather  suddenly, 
turning  to  her,  "  this  is  a  very  beautiful 
place  just  here.  What  do  you  do  with  so 
much  that  is  delightful  ?  " 


94  SOUNDBROOE; 

"  I  don  t  do  much  with  it,"  she  replied 
with  a  child's  simplicity.  "  I  like  it." 

He  looked  at  ber,  half  smiling.  "  I  think, 
if  I  lived  here,  I  should  talk  to  it  sometimes, 
and  I'm  sure  it  would  talk  to  me,  about  the 
Lord  who  made  fr,  Miss  Amy,  do  you  love 
him  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  Amy  •ejnlied.  "  I  like  to  hear 
about  him  ;  but  1  d  >  not  love  him."  She 
flushed  as  she  saii  iv,  fueling  that  his  eyes 
were  upon  her. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  A  ^  replied  with  pleas 
ant  gravity,  "  that  yeu  £~N  not  love  him. 
Yet  you  say  that  you  like  to  hear  about  him. 
What  is  it  that  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  I  like  best  the  stories  Mrs.  Percival  tells 
me  about  Jesus  being  on  the  /-nrth,  and 
about  the  wonderful  things  he  did,  and  how 
the  people  and  the  children  went  aftf*  him," 
Amy  replied  with  some  hesitation. 

Mr.   and   Mrs.   Percival   came  up  at  the 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  95 

moment ;  and  for  Amy  the  conversation  was 
ended.  But,  when  the  gentleman  held  out 
his  hand  to  her  as  she  left  them  for  the  night, 
it  seemed  as  if  the  question  he  had  been 
asking  her  were  in  his  eyes  still.  She  went 
away  to  her  room,  secretly  hoping  he  would 
talk  to  her  again. 

Nor  was  she  to  be  disappointed.     Next    * 
day,  after  her  studies  were  over,  Mr.  Perci- 
val  said,  "  I  have  something  pleasant  to  tell 
you,  Amy." 

She  guessed  in  her  heart  it  was  something 
connected  with  Mr.  Ellery,  as  she  had  heard 
him  introduce  himself  to  Mr.  Percival,  but 
did  not  ask  the  question.  Mr.  Percival 
continued,  "  The  gentleman  whom  you  saw 
here  last  night  has  just  entered  the  seminary 
at  West  Boundbrook,  in  order  to  become  a 
minister ;  and  his  heart  is  so  much  engaged  in 
his  work,  that  he  is  anxious  to  collect  the 
children  and  other  persons  of  this  neighbor- 


96  BOUNDBROOR', 

hood  into  a  sabbath  school.  How  would 
you  like  it,  Amy,  —  a  sabbath  school  in  our 
little  schoolhouse  at  Boundbrook  ?  " 

Amy  clapped  her  hands.  "  I  should  like 
it  more  than  any  thing  else,  Mr.  Percival. 
But  how  funny  it  would  be  to  have  it  in 
a  schoolhouse  !  And  will  you  go,  and  Mrs. 
Percival  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  But  what  makes  you  so  glad  ? 
—  that  you  are  to  go,  or  that  these  dear  peo 
ple  about  us  are  to  be  taught  about  the  Lord 
Jesus  ?  " 

Amy  looked  up  and  down,  thoughtfulness 
taking  the  place  of  gladness  for  the  moment. 
"  I  didn't  think  of  anybody  but  myself,"  she 
said  humbly.  And  then  the  question  flashed 
into  her  mind,  "  Should  I  have  thought  of 
somebody  else  first  if  I  loved  God  ?  "  She 
concluded  most  likely  she  should.  But  Mr. 
Percival  noticed  the  drooping  eyes,  and  for 
bore  further  questioning. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  97 

It  seemed  to  Amy  as  if  Sunday  would 
never  come  ;  but  it  did  come  at  just  the  time 
appointed  for  it. 

So,  also,  the  hour  appointed  for  the  first 
meeting  of  the  Boundbrook  sabbath  school  at 
length  arrived  ;  and  Amy,  with  hand  tightly 
clasping  Mrs.  Percival's,  entered  the  school- 
house.  The  schoolroom  was  small,  but  very 
pretty,  and  nicely  furnished  in  modern  school 
fashion.  It  seemed  to  Amy  a  very  strange 
place  for  a  sabbath  school,  however. 

Mrs.  Percival  led  her  presently  to  one  of 
the  smaller  seats,  and  left  her.  For  fifteen 
minutes  she  sat  absorbed  in  watching  the 
people  as  they  came  in,  old  and  young,  —  some 
in  neat,  some  in  tawdry  attire  ;  some  alert 
and  happy,  some  shuffling  and  ashamed.  It 
was  a  new  and  amusing  scene  ;  and  now  she 
thought  she  would  not  have  any  thing  dif 
ferent  if  she  could.  (How  sweet  was  the 
smell  of  flowers  and  new-mown  hay,  that 


98  BOUNDBROOK; 

floated  across  the  room  from  the  fields  out 
side  !  )  After  prayer,  and  some  consultation 
among  the  older  ones,  the  members  of  the 
school  were  formed  into  separate  classes.  To 
her  great  delight,  Amy  was  placed,  with  some 
other  little  girls,  under  the  care  of  the  gen 
tleman  who  had  talked  with  her  at  Mr. 
Percival's. 

Every  thing  went  on  smoothly  after  that, 
except  that  two  or  three  of  the  little  girls 
seemed  to  find  a  great  deal  to  laugh  at.  But 
Mr.  Ellery's  earnest  voice  soon  called  their 
thoughts  to  something  else ;  and  Amy  quite 
forgot  their  merriment,  —  quite  forgot  every 
thing,  indeed,  but  her  teacher's  words.  And 
then,  it  seemed  so  soon,  the  signal  was  given 
for  the  school  to  close ;  and  she  had  hardly 
come  to  herself,  when  the  same  voice  to 
which  she  had  been  listening  so  intently 
asked,  very  low  and  close  to  her,  if  she  loved 
God  yet. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  99 

Oh  !  what  would  Amy  not  have  given  to 
have  honestly  answered,  Yes.  Could  she  not  ? 
Instantaneously  she  searched  her  heart  for 
something  upon  which  she  might  base  such 
a  reply;  but  there  was  no  affection  there. 
She  thought  perhaps  she  wished  to  please 
God ;  but  so,  too,  she  had  wished  to  please 
some  of  her  teachers  at  home,  whom  she 
knew  privately  she  disliked.  To  wish  to 
obey  was  not  to  love  ;  and,  at  this  point  of 
her  rapid  self-examination,  Amy  looked  into 
Mr.  Ellery's  kind  eyes,  and  the  second  time 
gave  answer  gravely  but  truthfully,  "  No,  sir." 

There  was  no  time  for  any  thing  more  ; 
for  just  then  a  hymn  was  given  out  to  be 
sung.  And,  immediately  upon  the  closing  of 
the  school,  Mr.  Ellery's  attention  was  en 
grossed  by  the  other  teachers ;  and  Amy  was 
taken  in  charge  by  Mrs.  Percival  for  the 
walk  home.  Mr.  Percival  presently  joined 
them  ;  and  slowly  they  wended  their  way 
toward  the  gray  stone  cottage. 


100  BOUNDBROOK; 

Near  the  turn  of  the  road  at  the  foot  of 
Rock  Hill,  the  attention  of  the  little  party 
was  called  by  Mr.  Percival  to  a  boy,  appar 
ently  of  some  fourteen  or  fifteen  summers, 
sitting,  with  his  head  down,  by  a  rock  at  the 
roadside.  His  clothes  were  dirty  and  ragged, 
his  feet  bare,  his  head  illy  covered  by  an  old 
straw  hat,  beneath  which  his  hair  hung  in 
tangled  masses. 

As  they  drew  near,  the  boy  raised  his 
head.  What  was  it  made  him  start  and  stare 
at  sight  of  Amy  ?  What  was  it  swept  over 
her  with  a  vague  sense  of  something 
familiar?  Surely- she  never  could  have  seen 
that  boy  !  Still  she  stood  moveless,  till,  on 
a  sudden,  his  head  went  down  ;  and  then 
Amy  knew. 

"  Mr.  Percival,"  said  she  with  timid  eager 
ness,  "  I  have  seen  him  before.  May  I 
speak  to  him?  Please  let  me,  Mr.  Perci 
val." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  101 

"  You  must  be  wrong,  my  child.  It  can 
not  be  you  know  him  !  " 

"But  I  have  seen  him  with  father  at  the 
wharves.  Please  mayn't  I  speak  to  him  ?  " 

Mr.  Percival  went  up  to  the  boy  with  her, 
standing  a  little  aloof,  watching  to  see  the 
result  of  this  strange  recognition. 

Amy  had  no  knowledge  of  the  boy's  name  ; 
and  when  she  had  stepped  to  his  side,  find 
ing  that  he  kept  his  position  as  if  unaware 
of  her  presence,  she  had  no  alternative  but 
to  say  (and  she  said  it  very  low  and 
timidly),  «  Boy." 

It  was  a  rare  picture.  The  time,  just  at 
sunset,  a  shower  of  fine  gold  sifting  through 
trees  and  bushes,  flashing  across  the  hill-top, 
and  burnishing  every  spire  of  the  short  grass 
by  the  roadside,  until  they  looked  like  so 
many  golden  needles  ;  the  bending  figure  of 
the  fair  little  girl,  with  a  world  of  eagerness 
and  pity  and  wonder  in  her  eyes ;  and  the 


102  BOUNDBROOK. 

ragged  boy,  shrinking  awa}'  from  her,  —  much 
as  we,  conscious  of  our  moral  impurity,  and 
filthy  rags  of  unrighteousness,  might  shrink 
from  the  wondering,  pitying  gaze  of  an  angel. 

Amy's  first  advance  met  with  no  response ; 
and  with  a  little  more  clearness,  and  less  of 
timid  hesitancy,  she  spoke  again,  adding, 
"  Don't  be  afraid  of  anybody  here." 

The  sun  drops  behind  the  horizon,  the 
golden  rays  flee  to  the  farthest  eastern  hill 
top,  the  leaves  of  the  trees  above  begin  to 
quiver  in  the  freshened  evening  breeze  ;  but 
the  ragged  figure  is  moveless  still,  and  the 
tender,  eager  eyes  keep  their  intent  look 
upon  him. 


CHAPTER  X. 

GILBERT  AT  BOUNDBROOK. 

JNE  day  towards  the  last  of  the  week 
previous  to  this,  Gilbert  Marvin  went 
home  from  the  wharves  in  the  middle 
of  the  forenoon,  and,  walking  straight  to 
his  mother,  threw  several  pieces  of  money 
into  her  lap.  "  There,"  said  he,  "  that  will 
keep  you  from  starving  a  few  days.  I'm 
going  away." 

"  What  ? "  said  the  woman,  looking 
frightened. 

"  You  needn't  look  at  me  so,  nor  say  any 
thing,  either.  I'm  going.  Now,  stop  that, 
do  !  "  Mrs.  Marvin  had  begun  to  wring  her 
hands  and  cry,  — 

103 


104  BOUNDBROOK; 

"O  GU,  Gil!"  If  she  spoke  the  name 
once,  she  did  twenty  times. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Gilbert  angrily,  as  he 
went  round  the  room  picking  up  a  few 
things,  "  always  that !  "  As  he  was  going 
about,  he  inadvertently  came  near  his  father, 
whom  he  had  meant  to  avoid.  Mr.  Marvin 
plucked  him  by  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket. 

"  Where  yer  goin'  ?  "  he  asked  vacantly. 

"  None  of  your  business  !  "  said  Gilbert, 
twitching  away  from  him.  "  Let  me  alone !  " 
He  went  out,  and  left  them  thus. 

This  was  Friday  morning.  Gilbert  left 
home  with  the  intention  of  finding  Stock- 
well,  his  father's  native  place  ;  but,  his  course 
thither  not  being  very  definitely  marked  out, 
he  lost  his  way  two  or  three  times,  and  was 
obliged,  in  each  case,  to  retrace  his  steps. 
Thus  Sunday  evening  found  him,  not  at 
Stockwell,  but  at  Boundbrook,  and,  most 
unexpectedly,  in  the  very  presence  of  Amy 
Rushton. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  105 

His  ragged  clothes  and  the  dirt  that  clung 
to  him  would  have  made  him  anxious  to 
escape  from  her  at  the  moment :  but  hunger 
and  the  weariness  of  his  journey  overwhelmed 
him  with  despondency ;  and  he  cowered 
beneath  her  sweet  pleading,  feeling  as  if  lie 
could  never  lift  his  head  again.  Intuitively 
Amy  comprehended  his  situation,  and  con 
tinued  her  plea.  "  Come  up  to  the  house  with 
us,"  said  she;  "and  Mr.  Percival  will  give 
you  something  to  eat,  and  help  you." 

The  boy's  heart  began  to  revive  at  the 
prospect  of  food  ;  and  in  a  few  moments  he 
raised  his  head,  and  stole  furtive  glances 
around.  "  Come,  my  lad,"  said  Mr.  Percival, 
now  stepping  nearer, — "  come  up  to  the  house, 
and  we  willflsee  what  we  can  do  for  you." 

Amy,  meanwhile,  had  gone  back  to  Mrs. 
Percival ;  and  Gilbert,  shaking  some  of  the 
thick  dust  from  his  clothes,  followed  them, 
towards  their  home,  keeping  at  a  little  dis 
tance  in  the  rear. 


106  BOUNDBROOK; 

Arrived  at  the  house,  and  being  duly 
washed  and  fed,  he  was  ushered  into  the 
sitting-room,  and  there  told  the  story  of  his 
leaving  home  to  three  deeply-interested 
listeners,  keeping  back,  however,  his  real 
motive  in  so  doing. 

"  You  say  you  are  going  to  Stockwell,  my 
boy,"  said  Mr.  Percival  as  he  concluded. 
"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  there  ?  " 

Gilbert  colored,  and  did  not  answer. 

"  But  what,  in  the  mean  time,  will  your 
father  and  mother  do  ?  Are  they  able  to  do 
any  thing  for  themselves,  —  to  get  any  sort 
of  a  living  without  you  ?  " 

The  boy  replied  rather  gruffly,  that  he 
didn't  know  but  they  could  if  they  were  put 
to  it.  • 

"  Are  they  well  and  strong  ?  " 

"  He  isn't.     He  shakes  all  the  time." 

"He?  — who?" 

"My  father,"  was  forced  from  Gilbert's 
reluctant  lips. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  107 

"  That  sounds  better,  my  son.  Are  they 
intemperate  ?  " 

"  What?  "  said  Gilbert  inquiringly. 

"  Do  they  drink  liquor?  —  rum,  whisky,  or 
anything  of  that  kind  ?  " 

"  Not,  now.     They  used  to." 

"  What  induced  them  to  leave  off  the 
habits  ?  " 

Gilbert  did  not  know.  No :  the  boy  did 
not  know  how  true  a  friend,  in  the  shape  of  a 
homely  little  dwarf,  had,  some  time  before  his 
own  personal  acquaintance  with  him,  exerted 
every  effort  of  which  his  kind  heart  was 
capable,  to  persuade  them,  and  help  them  in 
many  an  unseen  way,  to  give  up  the  ruinous 
cup.  He  did  not  know  how  closely  this  same 
friend  had  looked  after  their  interests  and 
his,  though  keeping  himself  always  in  the 
background  if  possible  ;  did  not  know  whose 
hand  had  left  many  a  little  comfort  or  dainty 
for  the  father,  palsied  not  so  much  with 


108  BOUNDBROOK; 

years,  as  with  rum  and  sickuess  and  ex 
posure  ;  did  not  know  whose  coming  carried 
pleasure  into  that  dingy  room,  when  he  had 
left  them  peevish  and  complaining ;  nor 
whose  cheery  tones  were  heard  there  in  spng 
or  laughter,  or  as  often  in  prayer.  For  the 
little  dwarf — "unfortunate  Robert  Bern- 
hard,"  as  some  called  him  —  was  as  happy- 
hearted  a  Christian  as  the  Lord  ever  blessed. 
Unfortunate  ?  He  did  not  think  so. 

"  When  you  lived  in  Stockwell,"  asked 
Mr.  Percival,  "  were  your  father  and  mother 
as  poor  as  they  are  now  ?  " 

Gilbert  could  hardly  remember,  but  he 
thought  his  father  might  have  been  a  smart 
man  once. 

"  Do  you  know,"  asked  Mr.  Percival, 
"  what  day  this  is  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     It's  Sunday." 

"  And  do  you  know  whose  day  it  is  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  know  what  you  mean," 


07?,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  109 

said  Gilbert ;  "  but  I  know  what  we  used  to 
call  it  there.     We  used  to  say  it  was  the  "  — 

"  Stop,"  said  Mr.  Percival,  not  unkindly, 
but  with  an  intonation  which  brought  Gil 
bert  to  a  recollection  of  his  whereabouts. 
"  I  don't  wish  to  know  what  you  called  it. 
The  sabbath,  my  boy,  is  the  Lord's  day  ;  and 
now,  as  its  hours  are  not  yet  passed,  we  will 
devote  the  rest  of  it  to  other  conversation, 
and  talk  more  of  yourself  in  the  morning." 

With  the  early  dawn  the  household  was 
astir ;  and  Mr.  Percival,  taking  Gilbert  into 
his  study,  learned  more  of  his  disposition 
and  plans  than  Gilbert  had  cared  to  disclose, 
or  would,  but  for  the  kind,  judicious  ques 
tioning  of  Mr.  Percival. 

In  vain  the  gentleman,  however,  tried  to 
induce  him  to  return  very  soon,  if  not  im 
mediately,  to  his  parents.  The  t>oy  grew 
sullen  and  angry.  "  I  don't  see  why  every 
body  need  tell  me  that,"  he  muttered. 


110  BOUNDBROOK ; 

" Because,"  said  Mr.  Percivftl,  "they  are 
evidently  dependent  upon  you  for  their  daily 
food.  Little  as  you  do  for  them,  that  little 
is  your  duty,  and  should  be  your  pleasure. 
It  is  both  selfish  and  unfeeling  in  you  to 
leave  them  to  themselves  in  this  way.  At 
least  let  me  persuade  you  to  return  to  them 
before  many  days  have  elapsed.  I  will  write 
to  my  friend  Mr.  Rushton  ;  and  he  will,  per 
haps,  find  you  better  employment." 

"  I  don't  want  any  help,"  said  Gilbert 
proudly  ;  "  and  I  am  going  where  I  please." 

He  started  up,  and,  facing  Mr.  Percival  for 
a  moment,  turned  to  go. 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  the  gentleman 
very  kindly.  "  One  in  heaven  has  said, 
4  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother.'  Re 
member,  my  boy,  that  He  who  made  you,  and 
placed  you  where  he  chose,  goes  with  you. 
Remember  that  you  can  not  go  from  him." 

Gilbert,   finding    himself    released,    as    it 


OB,  AMY  BUSHTON  'S  MISSION.  Ill 

were,  began  to  come  down  from  his  haughti 
ness.  It  was  not  quite  so  fine  to  go,  without 
making  a  display  of  his  independence. 
There  was  no  alternative,  however.  He  saw 
that  now  he  was  expected  to  go  ;  and  though 
Mr.  Percival's  words  and  manner  could  not 
have  been  more  kind  than  they  were,  his 
quiet  dignity  did  not  encourage  Gilbert  to 
speak  again.  He  moved  toward  the  door, 
and  went  out  alone. 

As  he  went  down  the  garden-walk,  the 
revulsion  of  feeling  common  to  one  of  his 
moody,  changeful  nature  followed.  No 
sooner  had  he  reached  the  main  road  than 
he  threw  himself  down  in  a  fit  of  passion 
and  despondency. 

"  I  don't  care,"  he  said  to  himself,  rolling 
about  in  the  grass  with  his  face  in  his  hands. 
"  Don't  anybody  treat  me  anyhow  !  Don't 
anybody  think  I  am  anybody  !  I  wish  I  was 
dead  ;  I  do !  Oh,  dear  !  " 


112  BOUNDBROOK; 

Some  moments  passed  in  the  utterance  of 
such  ejaculations  ;  and  then  he  sat  up  and 
began  to  look  about  him. 

It  was  one  of  the  rarest  of  summer  morn 
ings,  —  freshness  and  dewiness  all  about  him, 
and  the  sweetest  fragrance  floating  from 
meadow  and  grove  and  orchard.  Over  all  a 
fair  sky  bending  serenely. 

Gilbert  was  not  insensible  to  beauty.  "  I 
guess  Amy  Rushton  likes  to  live  here,"  he 
said  to  himself,  coming  out  of  his  despond 
ency  a  little.  "  Queer  I  should  come  across 
her !  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  away  without  seein' 
her  again :  that's  what  I  ain't.  I'll  wait  here 
a  while.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  she  came  round 
before  long." 

He  was  not  wrong  in  his  conjecture,  for 
Amy  was  always  dancing  about  in  the  early 
morning ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  she 
came  running  a  race  down  the  road  with  her 
pet  lamb. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'8  MISSION.  113 

Seeing  Gilbert,  she  turned  instantly  to  go 
back. 

"  Oh,  don't  go  !  "  exclaimed  Gilbert  in  real 
distress  lest  she  should. 

"  I  must,"  she  replied  with  decision ;  for 
she  felt  that  Mr.  Percival  would  not  be 
pleased  with  this.  "  Come,  Lammie  !  "  But 
Lammie  was  obstinate,  and  wouldn't  stir. 

In  a  moment  Gilbert  was  by  her  side.  She 
was  much  displeased,  and  stepped  back  from 
him ;  but,  when  she  saw  that  he  had  been 
crying,  pity  got  the  better  of  her  wounded 
feeling. 

"  I  wish  you'd  speak  to  me,"  said  Gilbert, 
giving  utterance  to  the  thought  uppermost 
in  his  mind.  Then  he  felt  embarrassed,  and 
stood  kicking  the  dust  with  his  feet. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  said  Amy,  also 
speaking  her  first  thought,  as  children  are 
wont  to  do. 

"  I  don't  know  as  you  need  to  be,"  said 


114  BOVNDBROOK; 

the  boy,  with  a  little  of  his  independence 
returning.  "  But  I  do  think  it's  real  mean." 

"Mean!     What?" 

"Why,  to  have  folks  always  telling  you 
you're  doing  wrong,  and  all  that  sort  of  stuff." 

"  If  we  deserve  it,"  Amy  began. 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  put  in  Gilbert  vehemently. 
"  You  know  I  don't.  They  do  it  because 
I'm  poor  and  ragged.  What's  the  harm  if  I 
do  leave  the  old  folks  ?  And  besides,"  lower 
ing  his  tone,  "  I'll  tell  you,  if  you  won't  tell : 
I  don't  think  they're  my  father  and  mother ; 
and  I'm  going  to  find  'em." 

"  I  can't  stay  here,"  said  Amy,  turning 
resolutely  away. 

"  Amy  Rushton !  "  exclaimed  Gilbert, 
"  you  shall  stay.  I've  been  looking  for  you 
every  day  at  the  wharves,  since  you  told  me 
so  many  things  there ;  and  I  haven't  had  any 
body  to  tell  me  any  thing  since,  only  a  crooked 
little  fellow  that  used  to  come  down  once  in 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  115 

a  while.  I've  been  learning  to  read  some. 
And  now  I'm  going,  —  stay  just  one  inmute, 
—  I'm  going  to  find  out  my  real  father  and 
mother." 

The  boy's  unexpected  freedom  with  her 
name  had  offended  Amy's  sense  of  delicacy, 
and  his  vehement  manner  half  frightened  her; 
yet,  through  it  all,  how  she  pitied  him !  for 
what,  she  could  hardly  have  told.  It  was  all 
very  strange  to  her  ;  but  what  could  she  do  ? 

She  did  the  best  thing  she  could,  poor, 
puzzled  child !  standing  there  against  her 
convictions  of  duty,  and  yet  curiously 
drawn  toward  the  boy.  She  lifted  her  eyes ; 
and  as  they  rested  on  his,  with  all  the  inno 
cent  pity  of  her  heart  shining  from  them,  she 
said  again,  "Jam  very  sorry  for  you." 

He  was  satisfied  to  let  it  be  so  now ;  possi 
bly  her  steady,  truthful  tone  quieted  his 
disturbed  spirit.  "  I  think  you  are  real 
good,"  he  said  presently  in  a  more  subdued 


116  BOUNDBROOK. 

voice.  "  Must  you  go  now  ?  Thank  you  for 
stopping."  He  turned  to  go  on  as  he  spoke. 
"  Goocl-by  !  " 

"  Good-by  !  "  said  Amy  ;  and  they  sepa 
rated  thus,  —  two  pairs  of  feet  meeting  again 
on  life's  highway,  and  again  taking  up  an 
opposite  march.  With  what  may  such  a 
meeting  be  fraught ! 


CHAPTER    XL 

BEBELLION. 

MY  went  home,  and,  letting  the 
lamb  go  to  seek  his  own  pleasure, 
very  slowly  climbed  the  steps,  and 
went  into  the  sitting-room,  where  Mr.  Per- 
cival  sat  with  a  book  in  hand,  but  not 
reading. 

"  What  now,  little  one  ?  "  he  asked,  noti 
cing  her  grave  face. 

"  I  was  coming  to  tell  you  something,  Mr. 
Percival,"  she  replied,  going  up  to  his  chair. 
"  Are  you  too  busy  to  talk  now  ?  " 
"  No,  dear  :  what  is  it  ?  " 
Amy   told  him  the   story   of    her  recent 

117 


118  BOUNDBROOK; 

meeting  with  Gilbert.  She  was  too  con 
scientious  not  to  have  done  so. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  blame  you, 
Amy,"  the  gentleman  said  thoughtfully ; 
"  but  I  hope  he  will  not  come  again,  unless  he 
can  come  with  a  better  spirit." 

"  He  is  very  strange,  Mr.  Percival." 

"  Yes,  a  strange  boy,  Amy.  Yet  I  have 
been  much  interested  in  .  him,  and  can  not 
read,  this  morning,  for  thinking  about  him. 
His  character  is  illy  balanced,  and  his  pride 
and  self-will  strong.  Do  you  understand 
these  words,  Amy?  I  forgot  I  was  talking 
to  a  little  girl." 

"  Yes,  sir :  I  think  I  know.  You  mean  he's 
not  always  the  same,  and  won't  see  that  he 
ought  to  do  better  ?  " 

"  That  is  very  nearly  it,  Amy." 

"  Mr.  Percival,"  she  asked  presently, 
"  would  he  be  so  if  he  loved  God,  as  you 
and  Mrs.  Percival  do  ?  " 


OB,  AMY  SUSHTON'S  MISSION  119 

"  I  think  he  would  be  more  willing  to  be 
taught  then,  Amy.  His  inclinations  would 
not  be  altogether  different  from  what  they 
are  now,  but  he  would  love  to  try  to  do 
right." 

"  It  is  a  very  great  thing  to  love  God, 
isn't  it  ?  "  inquired  Amy  after  a  long  silence. 

"  Yes,  dear ;  though  so  very  simple  that 
even  Amy  might  know  what  it  is." 

"  But  I  don't  "  —  after  another  thoughtful 
silence.  "  I  never  knew  any  thing  about  him 
till  I  came  here.  I  am  glad  (and  I  told 
papa  so  when  he  was  here),  —  I  am  glad  to 
learn  about  him ;  but  I  am  sure  I  do  not  love 
him." 

"  I  did  not  once,  Amy." 

Her  eyes  looked  surprise,  but  she  asked  no 
question. 

"  And  it  is  not  very  long  since  I  began  to, 
dear  child." 

"  Mr.     Percival,"    said     Ainy    now,    "  I 


120  BOUNDBROOK; 

thought  people  that  loved  God  had  always 
loved  him  a  little,  or  had  always  been  trying 
to.  I  don't  think  that  is  exactly  what  I 
mean,  either,"  she  added ;  "  but  it  seems  to 
me,  you  and  Mrs.  Percival  and  Mr.  Ellery 
must  always  have  been  a  little  different  from 
other  people." 

"  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Percival,  "  what  should 
you  think  if  I  should  tell  you,  that,  not  many 
months  ago,  I  hated  God  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  so,  Mr.  Percival  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  child."  There  were  tears  in 
his  eyes,  and  Amy  knew  he  would  never  tell 
her  any  thing  but  the  truth. 

She  was  silent  and  perplexed. 

"But  now,  Amy,  I  think,  if  I  understand 
myself,  that  I  love  him  very,  very  much." 

Then  the  gentleman  took  her  upon  his 
knee,  and  told  her,  not  as  he  told  Mr.  Rush- 
ton,  but  so  that  she  could  understand  it  per 
fectly,  the  story  of  his  changed  life,  —  what 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  121 

he  meant  by  saying  he  had  hated  God,  and 
how  now  he  wished  nothing  so  much  as  to 
love  him  more  and  more  deeply  every  day. 
He  noticed  that  her  face  became  graver  and 
graver  as  he  proceeded.  As  he  ceased  speak 
ing,  she  asked,  "  Mr.  Percival,  do  you  mean 
that  my  father  and  mother  and  —  I  —  hate 
God,  because  we  don't  love  him  ?  " 

"  I  was  talking  of  myself,  Amy." 

"But  you  didn't  tell  me  of  any  wicked 
things  you  did,  Mr.  Percival.  Does  every 
body  that  don't  love  God  hate  him  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  Christ  says  about  it, 
Amy."  He  opened  a  Bible  that  lay  near,  and 
bade  her  turn  to  Luke  xi.  23.  She  did  so, 
and  read,  "  He  that  is  not  with  me  is  against 
me,  and  he  that  gathereth  not  with  me 
scattereth." 

For  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  at 
Mr.  Percival's,  rebellion  rose  in  the  little 
heart.  Hitherto  all  had  been  sunshine. 


122  BOUyDBROOK; 

The  talk  of  God  had  been  new  to  her ;  it 
had  had  a  sort  of  fascination  for  her :  but 
against  this  her  pride  rose  up. 

"  I  don't  love  God,  perhaps,  Mr.  Percival," 
said  she  ;  "  but  I  don't  hate  him.  My  papa 
does  not  hate  him :  he  does  not  hate  any 
body." 

"  My  dear  child,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Percival, 
surprised  and  saddened  at  her  tone  ;  for  Amy 
spoke  with  rising  spirit,  and  her  blue  eyes 
had  an  expression  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"  Mr.  Percival,  may  I  go?"  said  Amy  in 
a  few  moments. 

His  first  thought  was  to  keep  her  longer ; 
but,  on  reflection,  he  said,  "  Yes,"  and  put  her 
from  his  knee. 

She  went  quickly  from  the  room,  and  up 
stairs  to  her  own  chamber. 

"  I  think  it's  very  strange  in  Mr.  Percival," 
she  said  to  herself  with  burning  cheeks,  "  to 
talk  as  if  we  all  hate  God !  My  father  never 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.         123 

said  any  thing  against  him.  He's  too  good 
to  hate  anybody,  or  talk  about  anybody ;  and 
I  know  he  does  not  hate  him.  I  don't  see 
what  Mr.  Percival  means !  I'm  not  going 
down  stairs  again  this  morning." 

With  an  air  of  wounded  dignity,  which 
hurt  the  childish,  innocent  face  very  much, 
Amy  gathered  up  her  study-books  scattered 
about,  and  piled  them  all  by  themselves  on 
the  table.  Her  slate  and  exercise-book,  with 
pens  and  ink,  were  arranged  in  order  next ; 
and,  taking  a  story-book,  she  sat  down  to 
read. 

At  first  she  read  very  rapidly,  as  if  literally 
swallowing  the  words  as  fast  as  she  could, 
till  she  became  aware  she  was  not  getting 
any  idea  of  what  she  was  looking  at;  and, 
turning  back,  began  over  again.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  same  conviction  came  upon  her 
again  so  forcibly,  that  she  shut  the  book,  and 
sat  looking  from  the  window.  It  seemed  to 


124  EOUNDBROOK; 

her  that  her  cheeks  grew  hotter  every  moment. 
Indeed,  if  she  had  looked  in  the  glass,  she 
would  hardly  have  known  herself.  We  are 
apt  to  view  ourselves  in  looking-glasses  only 
when  we  are  in  our  best  estate,  or  wish  to  be 
so ;  which  certainly  was  not  Amy's  condition 
this  morning. 

The  forenoon  passed  away  thus.  As  the 
hour  for  study  and  recitations  drew  nigh, 
Amy  wondered  if  some  one  would  not  come 
to  call  her.  But  no  one  came.  Was  she 
forgotten?  Did  not  Mr.  Percival  care 
whether  she  had  her  lessons  or  not  ?  Then 
her  heart  began  to  long  for  her  father ;  but 
rebellion  at  Mr.  Percival's  words  was  too 
deep  to  admit  of  softening  even  at  this 
thought.  Her  eyes  were  tearless,  and  her 
little  cheeks  red  and  hot  still. 

When  she  could  endure  the  solitude  no 
longer,  she  went  down  stairs,  and  out  upon 
the  lawn,  thence  to  the  river-side,  and, 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  125 

sitting  down  there,  remembered  how  she  had 
run  along  the  shore  the  first  morning  of  her 
stay  at  the  cottage.  And  from  that  thought 
she  went  over  her  life  for  the  past  few  months. 
How  beautiful  every  thing  had  seemed  to 
her !  How  she  had  learned  to  love  every 
spot  even  of  the  garden  and  the  house,  the 
lambs  and  the  doves,  and  even  the  clumsy 
•  ducks !  And  now  it  was  all  changed.  Oh, 
if  her  father  were  only  here !  He  always 
made  things  right.  Then  she  remembered 
that  she  had  once  heard  Mr.  Percival  say  he 
always  trusted  God  to  make  things  right  for 
him.  At  this  her  pride  rose  again.  Of 
course,  God  wouldn't  make  things  right  for 
people  who  were  against  him.  She  was  not 
sure  that  she  cared  to  have  him.  Poor  child ! 
in  her  wrong  feelings  she  thought  she  had 
a  right  to  be  angry  about  this,  as  if,  in  some 
way,  she  were  helping  to  sustain  her  own 
and  her  father's  dignity.  "They  against 


126  BOUNDBROOK  ; 

God !  —  no,  never !  "  And  her  cheeks  grew 
hotter,  and  the  angry  tide  of  feeling  made 
her  quiver. 

Even  when  she  heard  the  dinner-bell  sound 
in  the  cottage,  she  gave  no  answering  sign 
If  her  lessons  were  of  no  consequence,  neither 
was  her  dinner.     Proud  little  Amy ! 

She  was  not  to  be  left  long  to  herself,  how 
ever.  Mrs.  Percival's  step  was  heard  on  the 
walk ;  and  directly  her  arms  were  about  the 
child.  "  Amy,"  she  exclaimed  in  tender 
sorrow,  "  my  dear  little  girl !  "  She  would 
have  added  more,  had  she  not  seen  that  Amy 
was  in  no  mood  yet  to  listen.  She  therefore 
merely  remarked,  presently,  that  Mr.  Perci- 
val  was  waiting  for  her  at  dinner. 

"Mrs.  Percival,"  said  Amy,  hiding  her 
face,  "  may  I  be  excused  ?  Please  let  me 
stay  here.  I  do  not  want  any  dinner." 

For  a  minute  the  lady  hesitated.  She  had, 
with  some  difficulty,  restrained  herself  from 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  127 

going  to  the  child  before,  but  had  yielded  to 
Mr.  Percival's  conviction  that  it  was  better 
to  leave  her  to  think  alone. 

"  I  will  leave  you,  Amy,"  she  said  after  a 
while,  "  but  shall  send  you  something  from 
the  table,  which  I  wish  you  to  eat,  and  shall 
expect  to  see  you  at  tea-time.  Oh,  my  dear 
child !  if  you  could  see  how  deeply  you  are 
grieving  those  who  love  you,  and  the  dear 
Lord  above  all !  " 

She  sent  out  presently  from  the  table 
something  nice  for  Amy ;  but  the  little  girl 
had  really  no  appetite,  and,  forcing  herself 
to  swallow  a  few  mouthfuls,  begged  the  ser 
vant  to  take  it  away. 

All  the  long  afternoon  she  kept  her  seat 
by  the  river-side,  even  till  the  tea-bell  rang, 
and  she  knew  it  would  not  do  to  remain 
longer. 

Tea  was  over.  Through  the  meal  Amy 
had  sat  with  downcast  eyes,  and,  oh,  such 


128  BOUNDBROOK; 

hot  cheeks !  Would  they  never  stop  burn 
ing  !  Mr.  Percival  had  spoken  to  her  so 
tenderly,  just  as  he  was  wont,  that  she  felt 
as  if  she  should  choke  ;  and  the  glass  in  her 
hand  had  trembled  so  that  she  was  obliged 
to  set  it  down.  Eating  was  out  of  the 
question. 

Then  the  servants  came  in  for  devotions, 
and  Amy  sat  as  usual  in  her  small  chair  by 
Mrs.  Percival ;  but  she  could  not  sing  with 
the  others  to-night.  It  was  the  first  time 
for  many  weeks,  for  the  child  well  knew  now 
the  psalm-tunes  that  had  sounded  to  her  so 
old-fashioned  at  first.  There  was  not  one 
there  but  sadly  missed  the  little  treble  voice 
that  always  chimed  in  with  the  rest.  There 
was  not  one  there  but  felt  the  deep,  touching 
tenderness  of  Mr.  Percival's  prayer,  as  if 
he,  even  in  his  nearness  to  God,  were  yearn 
ing  for  something  that  was  wanting  in  the 
little  household. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  129 

It  was  over :  the  servants  had  gone  silent 
ly  out.  Mrs.  Percival  rose  to  attend  to  some 
duty.  Amy  rose  too  :  her  eyes  were  blinded 
with  tears ;  for  a  moment  she  felt  as  if  they 
were  all  going  away  from  her  without  a 
word.  She  could  hardly  see  where  Mr.  Per 
cival  was ;  but  she  started  towards  him,  and 
was  in  his  arms  in  an  instant. 

They  let  her  cry  as  long  as  she  would. 
Those  blessed  tears  —  how  they  cooled  her 
hot  cheeks,  and  eased  her  aching  head,  and, 
more  than  she  was  aware,  her  aching  heart 
too! 

"  Mr.  Percival,"  she  began  once  ;  but  the 
words  choked  her,  and  a  fresh  burst  of  tears 
followed.  By  and  by  she  began  again. 
"  Can  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  dear  child." 

"  But  I've  been  so  —  so  proud  and  angry 
all  day." 

"  We  can  forgive  it  all,  dear." 

9 


130  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  But  I've  been  angry  with  you^  Mr.  Per- 
cival." 

"  I  know  all  that,  Amy." 

It  was  a  long  time  before  she  was  fully 
quieted,  and  then  not  without  repeated 
assurances  of  forgiveness. 

Mr.  Percival  began  telling  her  stories  of 
his  boyhood  days  to  divert  her  from  dwelling 
too  much  upon  the  events  of  the  day.  But 
she  was  not  so  easily  to  be  drawn  from  this. 

"  Mr.  Percival,"  she  asked  during  a  pause 
in  the  story-telling,  "  may  I  tell  you  a  story  ? 
—  something  I  thought  I  never  could  tell 
anybody." 

"  If  it  is  not  too  long,  Amy." 

"It's  not  very  long,  Mr.  Percival.  It's 
about  being  angry  at  home  the  morning  I 
came  here."  So  she  told  him  the  story  of 
Christie  and  the  necklace,  and  added,  "  Fa 
ther  was  very  sorry  then  to  see  me  so  angry : 
he  would  be  more  sorry  now,  I  think.  Mr. 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  131 

Percival,  I  was  sorry  I  was  so  angry  with 
mamma ;  but  I  wasn't  sorry  I  didn't  keep  the 
necklace,  and  I  am  afraid  I  never  shall  be 
quite.  What  can  I  do  about  it  ?  " 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival  exchanged  glances. 
How  should  they  help  the  inquiring  little 
one? 

"Amy,"  said  Mr.  Percival  at  length, 
"  when  I  am  in  doubt  what  to  do  about  any 
thing,  what  do  you  suppose  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do  you  pray  ?  "  said  Amy  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  But  I  can  not  pray  like  you.  And  I'm 
angry  so  often,  I  never  shall  love  God.  And 
Mr.  Percival,"  she  said,  hiding  her  face  in 
her  hands,  "  I  haven't  been  loving  you  to 
day.  I've  been  against  you,  and  against 
God,  because  I  would  be  angry.  I  know 
what  you  meant  now.  I  meant  to  be  angry. 
I  hated  good  things  and  good  people ;  and 
I'm  afraid  God  can't  forgive  me." 


132  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Do  you  suppose  lie  loves  you  less  than 
we  do,  Amy  ?  Hasn't  he  seen  all  your  heart 
to-day  ?  and  doesn't  he,  just  as  well,  see  now 
that  you  are  very  sorry  ?  He  does  not  need 
that  you  should  tell  him  that  as  you  do  me  ; 
though  you  can  not  help  doing  so,  if  you  feel 
it.  And  so,  too,  he  knows  all  about  your 
being  angry  at  home.  Have  you  ever  asked 
him  to  forgive  you  for  that?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Amy  humbly.  "  But  how 
can  I,  if  I  do  not  love  him  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go  farther  back  than  that,  dear 
child,  and  see  if  you  can  find  any  excuse  for 
not  loving  him.  Think  of  the  little  children 
in  Jerusalem  and  in  the  towns  where  Jesus 
walked.  Suppose  that,  when  they  heard  that 
he  was  blessing  some  of  their  little  com 
panions,  they  had  indifferently  or  purposely 
kept  away  from  him  :  would  they  have  had  a 
good  excuse  for  not  having  a  blessing  too  ? 
They  would  not  go  to  him  for  it.  And  now 


OR,  AMY  KUSHTON'S  MISSION.  133 

is  it  reasonable  in  Amy  to  say  she  can  not 
pray  because  she  does  not  love  God,  when  it 
is  her  first  duty  to  ask  his  gentle  Spirit  to 
come  into  her  heart,  and  make  her  love 
him  ?  " 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  "  Won't  my 
naughty  temper  make  any  difference  to  him, 
Mr.  Percival  ?  " 

"  No,  dear,  —  no  more  than  to  us  now  ; 
since  you  are  truly  sorry." 

'  For  the  first  time  true  light  began  to  break 
in.     It  was  an  hour  never  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

NEW  LOVE  AND  LIFE. 

{OR  weeks  Amy  watched  for  Gilbert  to 
return.  She  was  not  pleased  with 
him  ;  but  something  that  she  was  too 
young  to  try  to  analyze  drew  her  thoughts 
toward  him  with  a  strong  desire  to  see  his 
face  again.  In  this  she  was  not  to  be  grati 
fied —  not  yet.  The  strange  boy,  as  she 
always  called  him,  did  not  come  back  to  the 
gray  stone  cottage. 

One  night,  however,  Mr.  Rushton  came ; 
and  her  joy  was  unbounded.  There  was  no 
gravity  mingled  with  her  childish  delight ; 

134 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  135 

and  her  father  was  well  pleased  with  the 
unshadowed  countenance. 

"  Amy,"  said  he,  as  they  were  alone  after 
tea,  "  you  are  as  happy  as  a  bird.  You  do 
not  want  to  go  back  to  the  city  ? 

"  No,  father." 

"  But  the  cold  winter  is  coming  ;  and  the 
river  will  be  frozen ;  and  there  will  be  no 
green  leaves  on  the  trees  ;  and  the  pet  lamb 
must  stay  in  the  barn  through  the  snowy, 
stormy  days." 

"  I  shall  want  to  see  all  that,"  she  replied 
quickly. 

"Why,  my  child?" 

"  Because  I  shall  find  out  if  God  doesn't 
make  things  pleasant  in  winter." 

"  '  There  are  sunny  days  in  winter,  after 
all,' "  quoted  Mrs.  Percival,  entering  at  the 
moment.  "  But,  Mr.  Rushton,  you  see  Amy 
makes  a  great  deal  of  her  own  sunshine. 
She  is  '  always  flying  straightway  to  the 
light,'  if  there  is  any  to  be  found." 


136  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Always  happy,  Amy  ?  "  said  Mr.  Rushton 
inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  papa.     I  am  now." 

"Why  now,  Amy?  What  does  that 
mean?" 

The  child  hesitated  for  an  instant  only. 
"  You  know  I  told  you  once  why  I  was  not 
always  happy  in  the  city,  father." 

Mr.  Rushton  very  seldom  trifled  with  her, 
or  he  would  have  obeyed  his  first  impulse  to 
pretend  not  to  remember.  He  answered 
quietly,  "Yes,  Amy." 

"And  you  know  all  that  is  different 
here?" 

"  Yes.  But,  Amy,  you  told  me  so  the  last 
time  I  came  ;  and  yet  you  look  even  happier 
and  brighter  than  you  did  then." 

"  I  am  happier,  papa."  Mrs.  Percival  had 
gone,  having  only  passed  through  the  room  ; 
and,  as  Amy  never  kept  any  thing  from  her 
father,  she  added,  after  a  moment's  thought- 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        137 

ful  silence,  "  Papa,  when  you  were  here  last, 
I  was  glad  because  I  could  learn  about  God  ; 
but  now  I'm  glad  because  I  love  him." 

Mr.  Rushton's  face  was  turned  away :  he 
could  not  look  at  the  child.  There  was  no 
mistaking  that  tone  :  childish  though  it  was, 
it  was  convincing,  satisfied,  triumphant 
even.  When  he  did  at  last  look  at  her,  the 
countenance  but  bore  out  the  impression  of 
the  words. 

"  Perhaps,  Amy,"  he  said,  "  you  do  not 
understand  this  now,  or  yourself  either.  I 
think  little  girls  like  you  ought  not  to  think 
of  such  things.  And  wouldn't  it  be  better 
for  you  to  think  more  of  what  your  father 
believes  than  of  what  Mr.  Percival  does  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Percival  does  not  tell  me  all 'this," 
she  answered.  "I  know  it  all  in  myself* 
papa." 

"  Father,"  she  began  again  in  a  very  low 
tone,  and  hiding  her  face  on  his  shoulder,  "  I 
have  been  very  naughty  here." 


138  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  What,  Amy  ?  " 

"  I  have,  father.  I  was  angry  with  Mr. 
Percival  all  day,  at  something  he  said  in  the 
morning  that  I  didn't  quite  understand  ;  and 
I  wouldn't  go  to  my  lessons,  nor  eat  my  din 
ner  ;  and  oh,  I  was  very  naughty !  I  was 
never  so  angry  at  home,  papa." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Percival  say  that  made 
you  angry,  Amy?" 

Amy  told  him  the  whole,  and  added,  "  But 
it  seems  to  me  now  the  best  day  I  ever  had 
—  in  some  things." 

"What  things?" 

"  I  think,"  said  Amy  humbly,  "  that  I  was 
beginning  to  be  proud  because  I  hadn't  been 
real  naughty  since  I  came  here  ;  and  perhaps 
I  might  have  begun  to  think  I  loved  God  a 
little.  But,  when  I  saw  that  the  naughty 
thoughts  were  in  my  heart  all  the  same  as 
ever,  it  made  me  see  that  there  was  a  great 
deal  for  God  to  forgive  before  I  could  love 
him." 


Off,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  139 

"  But  why  was  that  day  the  '  best  day,' 
Ainy?" 

"  Because,  father,  it  made  that  so  plain  to 
me ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival  were  so  kind, 
and  loved  me  just  the  same,  and  forgave  me, 
and  wouldn't  let  me  speak  about  it  after 
ward  ;  and  they  showed  me  that  I  had  grieved 
God  very  much,  but  he  loved  me,  and  would 
forgive  me,  and  never  remember  it  any  more, 
if  I  were  very,  very  sorry.  And  I  was, 
papa.  And,  when  I  tried  to  pray  about  it,  I 
couldn't  help  loving  him,"  she  added  with  a 
bright,  artless  smile  ;  and  then  throwing  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  "  I  want  you  to, 
father." 

Mr.  Rushton  said  no  more.  He  still  kept 
the  child  in  his  arms  ;  and,  as  they  sat  thus  in 
the  gathering  twilight,  he  went  through  a 
sort  of  waking  dream.  He  saw  himself 
growing  old,  —  saw  Amy  growing  to  woman 
hood,  taken  away  from  Mr.  Percival's  care, 


140  BOUNDBROOK; 

sheltered  once  more  at  their  home  in  the 
city,  surrounded  with  every  luxury  ;  and  yet 
she  was  no  more  a  part  of  these  as  she  had 
been  during  her  childhood's  days.  In  some 
undefined  way  she  seemed  separated  from 
them  all,  and,  yes,  even  from  him.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  tried  to  retain  her  ;  as  if,  losing  his 
hold  upon  her,  he  found  himself  going  about 
searching  for  his  treasure.  But  ever,  as  she 
was  within  his  reach,  she  slipped  away,  so 
surely.  Involuntarily  he  tightened  his  clasp 
of  the  little  form. 

"  Why,  papa,"  said  Amy,  "  I  am  here. 
Did  you  think  I  was  going  ?  " 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  I 
believe  I'll  go  and  find  Mr.  Percival."  He 
put  her  down  and  went  out  into  the  garden. 

The  next  morning  found  him  at  home. 
"  How  did  you  find  Amy  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Rush- 
ton,  as  usual. 


OR,  AMY  RUSIITOX'S  MISSION.  141 

Now,  Mr.  Rushton  was  not  a  man  given  to 
discourtesy  anywhere,  much  less  in  his  own 
family ;  but  at  this  he  uttered  an  angry 
"  Confound  it  all !  " 

"Why,  Mr.  Rushton,"  said  the  lady,  sur 
prised,  "what  is  the  matter?  Is  Amy 
pious  ?  " 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her. 

"  You  might  have  known  it  would  be  so," 
she  resumed.  "  A  nice  household  this  will 
be  when  she  returns  !  She  is  fast  becoming  a 
lady,  I  suppose." 

"  Lucy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  now  standing 
before  her,  "  whatever  else  Amy  may  be,  she 
will  never  be  less  than  a  lady,  both  by 
nature  and  education.  You  do  not  under 
stand  the  child.  Religious  she  may  be ;  but  I 
fancy  it  will  be  in  a  way  you  never  saw 
before." 

"  No  bigotry  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Rushton  with  a 
complacent  smile. 


142  BOUNDBROOK; 

"Bigotry?"  said  Mr.  Rushton.  "I  tell 
you,  Lucy,  it  isn't  in  the  child !  She  will  be 
as  far  from  that  as  that  graceful  Egyptian 
lily  is  from  becoming  a  stiff,  ungainly  thorn- 
tree." 

"  Really,"  returned  the  lady,  "  you  are 
getting  excited.  I  am  seriously  alarmed 
^bout  you." 

She  looked  as  though  she  was,  sitting  there 
in  her  capacious  easy-chair,  her  idle  fingers 
toying  with  the  fringe  of  her  silk  dress,  and 
her  soft  voice  rising  and  falling  in  languid 
affectation. 

Mr.  Rushton  went  to  his  library,  found 
the  last  "  Gazette,"  and  endeavored  to  for 
get  himself  in  the  "  shipping-news,"  which 
always  possessed  great  interest  for  him. 
How  strangely  it  was  made  out !  The  ship 
"Nestor"  had  been  spoken  somewhere  off 
the  South-American  coast,  and  reported 
homeward  bound  ;  spoken  again,  only  a  day 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON  'S  MISSION.  143 

or  two  later,  among  the  islands  of  the  Medi 
terranean.  No,  impossible !  He  was  con 
founding  two  separate  reports.  Mr.  Rushton 
threw  down  the  paper  in  despair.  He  would 
not  try  "shipping-news"  again  till  he  was 
less  disturbed.  "  Disturbed,  was  he  ? " 
He  wished  he  had  not  been  so  unguarded  as 
to  show  it.  And  what  had  disturbed  him 
so  ?  That  Amy  was  "  pious,"  as  Mrs.  Rush- 
ton  had  said?  Yet  she  was  brighter  and 
lighter  of  heart  than  when  at  home.  Was 
that  religion?  Had  he  never  known  what 
religion  was? 

No  :  Mr.  Rushton  never  had  known ;  had 
never  seen  in  any  one  true  heart-religion 
lived  out.  Unfortunately,  it  had  fallen  in 
his  way  to  see  a  certain  show  of  sanctity, 
but  never  a  self-forgetful,  earnest,  Christian 
life.  His  friend  Mr.  Percival  had  once  said 
this  to  him  on  the  occasion  of  a  visit  there  ; 
to  which  he  had  replied,  "  I  have  seen  what 


144  BOUNDBROOK; 

is  called  religion,  Percival ;  and  you  would 
not  have  me  understand  that  there  is  origi 
nating  here  a  new  system,  to  which  all  that 
goes  by  the  name  of  Christianity  shall  bow 
down?" 

"  No,  my  friend,"  gravely  replied  the  other, 
"  far  be  it  from  me  to  remove  the  ancient 
landmarks.  What  I  meant  to  imply  was 
this,  —  that  all  that  is  religion  in  name  can  not 
lay  claim  to  the  spirit  of  it,  and  is  not  actu 
ated  by  the  mainspring  of  true  religion ; 
which  is  love  to  God,  and  faith  in  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ." 

"  Or,"  put  in  Mr.  Rushton,  "  superstition,  as 
I  have  heard  you  call  it  a  thousand  times." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other  with  a  pained  look. 
"  Mr.  Rushton,  if  I  could  recall  the  sentiments 
I  used  to  utter  so  freely,  what  would  I  not 
give  ?  Superstition !  "  he  repeated,  a  glad 
light  all  at  once  breaking  over  his  fine  face. 
"  If  faith  is  superstition,  let  me  thank  God 


07?,   AMY  RUSHTOX'S  MISSION.  145 

again  that  he  allowed  me  to  live  long  enough, 
and  gave  me  grace  enough,  to  accept  such  a 
superstition  as  that,  in  place  of  the  dreadful 
unbelief  which  was  destroying  my  spirit's 
life.  Superstition?  —  it  is  rest,  freedom, 
peace,  joy.  Peace  I  never  had  before  ;  nor 
did  I  know  what  true  joy  was :  as  for  rest, 
I  was  always  craving  something  I  had  not ; 
and  freedom — was  I  not  continually  shackled 
and  fettered  by  the  positions  into  which  my 
false  theory  brought  me  ?  Every  day  I  see 
it  more  and  more  clearly." 

"  But,"  Mr.  Rushton  had  said  at  this  point, 
"  belief  is  not  every  thing." 

"  It  is  something,  in  that  it  affects  a  man's 
life,"  said  the  other.  "  But  there  is  some 
thing  higher,  —  the  life  hid  with  Christ  in 
God  ;  the  pure,  earnest  motive  ;  the  depth  of 
consecration  that  '  gives  power  with  God  and 
with  man.' ' 

"  You  have  gone  beyond  me,"  Mr.  Rushton 
10 


146  BOUNDBROOK. 

replied  almost  bitterly.  "  I  can  not  understand 
you.  And  must  Amy  always  talk  enigmas 
tome?" 

"Dear  friend,  I  trust  not."  It  was  all 
Mr.  Percival  had  said ;  but  Mr.  Rushton 
knew  what  meaning  lay  underneath  the 
words. 

Vague  as  it  was,  Mr.  Rushton  was  begin- 
ing  to  have  some  comprehension  of  what  the 
religion  of  Christ  is.  It  was  this  disturbed 
him  so  this  evening  of  his  arrival  home.  It 
seemed  to  be  setting  Amy  apart  from  him ; 
yet  he  could  not  but  confess  to  himself  that 
she  was  happier,  and.  yes,  even  more  loving 
(if  that  could  be),  than  when  at  home. 
Strange  paradox !  —  the  love  which  seemed  to 
remove  her  from  him  yet  brought  her  nearer 
than  before.  There  are  many  such  in  the 
Christian  life. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MAGGIE  BURNS. 
& 

JEFORE  Mr.  Rushton  left  the  gray 
stone  cottage  the  last  time,  he  had 
put  into  Amy's  hand  a  nicely-bound 
blank-book.  "Amy,"  said  he,  "I  should 
like  very  much  to  know  your  thoughts,  and 
something  about  your  life  here  every  day.  I 
want  you  now  to  begin  regularly  to  write  in 
this  whatever  you  think  would  interest  me, 
or  that  interests  you,  and  bring  it  to  me 
when  I  come  to  see  you." 

"  Shall    I    write    in    it   every  thing  that 
pleases  me,  father  ?  " 

147 


348  BOUNDBROOK 

"  Every  thing,  m}^  child :  that  is  what  I 
want." 

There  was  a  little  doubt  and  hesitancy  in 
Amy's  face  the  first  time  she  took  her  book 
to  write  in  it.  It  is  very  certain,  if  she 
could  have  had  her  own  way,  that  it  would 
never  have  been  used  at  all.  But  it 
was  her  father's  wish ;  and  Amy  never  for 
an  instant  questioned  whether  she  should 
obey  that.  As  regularly  as  the  day  came 
round,  when  morning  study  was  over,  she 
went  up  to  her  own  room,  and  with  a  deal 
of  anxiety  sometimes,  and  a  great  show  of 
carefulness  about  pens  and  ink,  she  wrote 
out  the  history  of  the  previous  day  as  faith 
fully  and  conscientiously  as  ever  a  devout 
Catholic  told  his  rosary.  Gradually  the 
task  became  easier ;  and  the  childish  anxiety 
lest  every  thing  should  not  be  just  right 
for  father's  eyes,  though  never  laid  aside, 
gave  way  to  a  quieter  mood  and  a  deepening 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  149 

interest  in  the  occupation.  One  day  she 
wrote  on  this  wise  :  — 

"  Nov.  15,  18 — .  —  Papa  wants  me  to  write 
whatever  pleases  me  :  then  I  must  write  a 
great  deal  about  him.  I  am  not  sure  that 
he  will  like  that.  When  I  carried  my 
journal  to  him  the  last  time  to  read,  —  it  was 
just  as  I  had  been  writing  about  the  little 
Sunday  school  here  ;  and  I  had  put  down 
some  things  Mr.  Ellery  said,  —  I  asked  him 
if  it  was  what  he  wanted  me  to  write.  He 
looked  at  me  quickly,  and  said,  *  You  write 
yourself  out,  Amy,  and  that  is  what  I  want.' 
I  did  not  understand  him  :  so  I  write  it  down 
lest  I  should  forget  to  ask  him.  Perhaps 
he  will  tell  me. 

"  Dec.  20,  18 — .  —  I  have  something  very 
nice  to  write  to-day.  Yesterday  morning 
Mrs.  Percival  received  a  letter  from  papa, 
saying  that  I  was  to  go  home  for  Christmas 
and  New  Year's.  Now  I  shall  have  a  chance 


150  BOVNDBROOK ; 

to  tell  mamma  just  how  I  feel  about  the 
necklace :  I  could  not  write  it  as  I  wanted 
to.  I  have  been  very  naughty  to  her :  I  do 
not  wonder  she  does  not  love  me,  she  can 
not.  I  do  not  see  why  I  have  always  been 
so  much  more  naughty  with  her  than  with 
father.  But  I  am  sure  I  love  her. 

"  Mr.  Ellery  called  yesterday  afternoon ; 
and,  when  I  told  him  I  was  going  home  for 
the  holidays,  he  asked  Mrs.  Percival  if  he 
might  take  me  to  see  Maggie  Burns;  and, 
as  she  was  very  willing,  I  went.  Papa  will 
remember  who  Maggie  is,  —  the  little  girl  in 
our  Sunday-school  class  that  has  that  dread 
ful  lameness.  When  I  came  here,  she  was 
as  well  and  strong  as  I  am. 

"  I  wish  father  could  have  gone  too.  I 
wish  he  could  have  seen  Mr.  Ellery  take 
Maggie  in  his  arms  so  carefully,  and  heard 
the  beautiful  things  he  said  to  her  while 
she  lay  listening  so  still.  And  I  felt  so  sorry 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  151 

for  Maggie  (and  perhaps  it  was  partly  what 
Mr.  Ellery  was  saying  too),  that  I  found  I 
was  crying  without  knowing  it,  —  only  a 
little,  softly ;  but  I  think  he  guessed  it,  for  he 
put  his  hand  round  to  me,  and  drew  me  up 
to  him  on  the  side  opposite  Maggie,  and  then 
he  talked  to  us  both.  But  Maggie  says  she 
can  not  see  how  this  trouble  is  sent  to  lead 
her  to  Jesus,  as  Mr.  Ellery  says.  All  the 
night,  sometimes,  she  says  she  lies  awake, 
and  thinks  about  it ;  and  in  the  morning 
she  is  no  nearer  to  Jesus,  but  only  farther 
off.  I  can  not  quite  understand  it ;  for  she 
has  no  angry  temper  to  keep  her  away  from 
him  as  I  had. 

"  Jan.  14.  —  I  was  glad,  after  the  pleasant 
holidays,  to  come  back  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Perci- 
val ;  and  I  think  they  were  almost  as  glad  as 
I  was. 

"  I  must  write  it  here,  — because  father  said 
he  would  rather  I  would  write  it  than  tell 


152  BOUNDBROOK; 

him,  — how  I  told  mamma  that  I  had  begun 
to  love  the  Lord.  I  would  rather  not  think 
any  thing  more  about  it ;  because  it  makes  me 
feel  as  if  I  had  not  done  it  in  the  right  way. 
But  I  only  thought  then  how  happy  I  was, 
and  how  much  I  loved  her,  and  just  told  her 
so  the  first  night  I  was  at  home,  when  I 
went  to  kiss  her  before  going  to  bed.  Then 
I  asked  her  to  forgive  me  for  being  so  angry 
about  Christie's  not  having  the  necklace,  and 
she  laughed.  I  could  not  be  mistaken,  —  she 
only  laughed.  And  I  felt  so  that  I  could  not 
keep  the  tears  back  —  they  always  will  come 
so  quick.  And  I  said, '  Mamma,  I  never  can  be 
quite  happy  till  you  forgive  me.'  — '  Oh,  yes  ! 
you  can,'  she  said :  '  you  just  told  me  you  were 
very  happy ;  and  you  can  go  to  bed  now.* 
I  went  to  bed ;  but  I  felt  as  if  I  had  not  made 
mamma  understand  me,  and  had  made  every 
thing  wrong  again.  But,  when  I  had  prayed 
about  it,  I  was  sure  God  would  make  it 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  153 

right  ii  some  way  if  I  were  to  show  mamma 
that  I  meant  all  I  said  by  my  actions.  How 
well  I  understand  now  what  Mr.  Percival 
used  to  say  about  God's  making  things  right 
for  him ! 

"  Feb.  4.  —  It  seems  to  me  I  do  not  think 
much  about  any  thing  but  Maggie.  Since 
the  weather  grew  colder,  she  is  worse  every 
day.  Yesterday  I  went  to  see  her.  I 
carried  her  some  nice  jelly  Mrs.  Percival 
sent ;  and,  after  she  had  tasted  it,  she  put  it 
down,  and  said,  — 

"  '  Amy,  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  die  ? ' 
"  It  was  so  sudden,  it  frightened  me ;  and 
Mrs.  Burns  went  out  of  the  room  very 
quickly.  I  could  not  say  any  thing.  After 
a  while,  Maggie  asked  me  to  come  close  to 
her :  so  I  did,  and  she  put  her  hand  by  the 
side  of  mine.  How  little  and  white  it 
looked !  though  I  was  crying  so,  I  could 
hardly  see  it.  It  came  over  me  all  at  once 


154  BOUNDBROOK; 

that  she  would  die  soon ;  and  I  sobbed 
out,  '  O  Maggie !  you  mustn't  die ;  you 
mustn't ! ' 

"  '  I  don't  want  to,'  she  said  ;  but  she  was 
crying.  I  remembered  then  that  Mr.  Ellery 
had  asked  me  to  try  not  to  cry  when  I  was 
there  ;  and  I  tried  very  hard  not  to.  After 
a  few  minutes  more  she  said  again,  '  I  don't 
want  to  die,  Amy.  I  want  to  stay  here  and 
help  mother.' 

"  I  knew  all  she  meant  by  that ;  for  Maggie 
is  the  oldest.  She  is  some  years  older  than 
I ;  and  her  father  is  not  rich.  Mrs.  Burns 
works  very  hard. 

"  I  think  Maggie  was  waiting  for  me  to  say 
something.  But  the  most  I  was  thinking  of 
was,  whether  she  loved  the  Lord  so  well  that 
she  could  leave  all  that  with  him.  I  was  try 
ing  to  think  how  I  should  say  it ;  when  I  forgot 
all  at  once  to  try,  and  just  said  it  as  I  felt  it. 
1  O  Maggie !  do  you  love  God  well  enough 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  155 

to  go  ? '  It  was  a  long  time  before  she 
answered  ;  and  then  she  said,  '  I'm  afraid  I 
don't,  Amy.' 

" '  But  he  loves  you  so  much,  Maggie  ! ' 
was  all  I  could  say. 

" '  He  can't,  Amy,'  she  said,  '  when  I 
lie  here  and  fret  all  day  about  mother  and 
the  rest.' 

"  I  told  her  I  was  sure  that  he  loved  me 
when  I  was  a  great  deal  naughtier  than  that. 

" '  You  couldn't  be,  Amy,'  she  answered. 
Then  I  told  her  all  about  myself,  more  than 
I  had  ever  told  any  one  ;  and  I  told  her,  too, 
how  Mr.  Percival  had  told  me  that  we  had 
all  been  alike  in  our  sin  of  not  giving  our 
hearts  to  God ;  and,  in  that,  one  needed  his 
forgiveness  as  much  as  another.  I  was 
afraid  I  did  not  help  her  very  much ;  for  I 
felt  so  about  her  dying,  I  could  hardly  speak. 
But  she  seemed  to  be  thinking  about  it  a 
great  while  ;  and  then  she  said  very  slowly, '  I 


156  BOUNDBROOK; 

think  I  can  see  that,  Amy.  What  you  mean 
by  loving  God  is  loving  to  think  how  he  has 
forgiven  you,  and  loving  to  tell  everybody 
about  him,  and  praying  for  them  (as  you  have 
for  me),  and  not  fretting :  is  that  it  ?  —  and 
loving  to  try  to  please  him  too  ?  ' 

"  I  thought  it  was  like  that ;  and  I  said  Yes. 
But  I  wondered  how  she  knew  I  had  been 
praying  for  her.  By  and  by  she  said,  '  That 
makes  you  keep  on  loving  him.'  She  said 
it  as  if  she  were  thinking :  so  I  did  not  speak. 
After  another  while  she  said  again,  '  Did 
you  ever  tell  any  one  else  all  that,  —  about 
yourself  ? '  I  said,  No ;  because  it  had 
always  seemed  to  me  as  if  that  was  some 
thing  that  was  between  God  and  me. 
"  '  Then  what  made  you  tell  me,  Amy  ?  ' 
"  I  burst  into  tears  then  :  I  could  not  help 
it.  But  she  was  just  as  quiet  as  she  always 
is.  By  and  by  she  took  my  hands,  and 
begged  me  not  to  cry.  '  Do  you  love  me, 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  157 

Amy  ? '  said  she.  I  put  my  arms  round 
her,  and  told  her  I  loved  her  dearly. 

" '  Then,'  said  she,  '  Amy,  if  you  love 
everybody,  and  want  them  to  be  Christians, 
you  must  tell  them  that  story  just  as  you 
have  me.  Will  you  tell  it  to  the  girls  in  our 
class,  dear  Amy?  and,  if  I  don't  live,  tell 
them  I  wanted  you  to  ?  ' 

"  It  was  a  hard  promise  to  make ;  but  I  said 
I  would  try.  She  put  up  her  face  to  mine, 
and  kissed  me ;  and  I  thought  she  smiled. 
How  I  used  to  like  to  see  Maggie  smile ! 

"  It  was  growing  late  in  the  afternoon  then ; 
and,  as  Mrs.  Burns  came  in  again  presently, 
I  had  to  say  good-by  to  Maggie.  I  was 
sure  this  time  she  smiled  as  we  kissed  each 
other. 

'•'•Feb.  10.  — When  father  read  what  I  wrote 
about  Maggie,  he  called  me  to  him,  and  said, 
'  Who  teaches  you  to  write,  Amy  ?  '  And 
when  I  said,  '  No  one  ;  only  I  was  studying 


158  SOUNDSnOOK; 

grammar,'  he  said  he  wanted  me  always  to 
write  as  nearly  as  I  could  just  what  was  said 
between  Maggie  and  me,  or  any  one  else. 
I  have  always  tried  to ;  but  I  put  it  down  to 
help  me  to  be  very  careful  to  remember. 
I  wonder  why  he  cares  so  much. 

"  Feb.  20.  —  It  seems  such  a  little  while 
since  Maggie  and  I  had  that  talk  together ; 
and  now  —  I  can  hardly  see  to  write  it  — 
Maggie  is  dead.  I  can  not  make  it  seem  so. 
I  want  to  think  of  her  as  at  home  instead  of 
in  heaven. 

"  I  did  not  know  it  till  the  day  after  she 
died.  I  was  walking  by  the  roadside,  when 
Mr.  Ellery  came  up.  I  saw  that  his  face  was 
sad ;  and  when  he  said,  '  Amy,  can  you  bear 
to  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  you  ? '  I 
knew  it  all.  I  could  not  speak,  nor 
scarcely  breathe.  But,  while  he  held  my 
hands  tight,  he  began  to  talk  about  Maggie 
so  lovingly,  as  he  always  did ;  and  then  he 


OB,  AMU  RUSUTON'S  MISSION. 

said  Mrs.  Burns  had  sent  to  ask  him  to  come 
to  the  house  and  bring  me.  He  had  asked 
Mrs.  Percival ;  and,  if  I  would  like  to  go,  we 
would  go  now.  But  he  did  not  wish  me  to 
say  yes  if  I  would  rather  not. 

"  He  spoke  so  quietly,  and  so  much  as  if 
Maggie  was  alive,  that  I  could  do  nothing 
but  go  with  him.  We  went  down  the  lane 
to  the  house.  Mrs.  Burns  met  us  at  the 
door ;  and  we  followed  her  into  the  room 
where  Maggie  had  been  sick.  Mr.  Ellery 
prevented  Mrs.  Burns  as  she  went  towards 
the  bed.  '  Shall  we  not  pray  first  ? '  he 
asked  gently.  But  he  did  not  let  go  my 
hand,  even  while  we  knelt »  and  I  was  glad, 
for  I  trembled,  and  I  was  stronger  to  have 
him  hold  me. 

"  '  Can  you  see  her  now,  Amy  ?  '  he  said 
after  we  rose.  '  You  need  not,  unless  you 
wish.' 

"  But  I  did ;    and  we  saw  her  dear  face,  so* 


160  BOUNDBROOK; 

white !  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  she  were 
smiling,  —  just  as  she  smiled  that  day. 

"  Mr.  Ellery  stroked  the  hair  on  her  fore 
head.  He  used  to  do  that  when  she  lay  in 
his  arms.  '  Dear  little  girl ! '  said  he  ;  '  happy 
little  Maggie !  Mrs.  Burns,  this  ought  not 
to  make  us  sad,  —  to  go  so  early,  so  quietly, 
to  the  heavenly  home.  It  was  a  pleasant 
death, —  no,  not  death  I  "  This  is  the  resur 
rection  and  the  life.  He  that  believeth  in 
me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live."  : 

"  '  I  know  it,  I  know  it !  '  she  sobbed  ; 
'  but  I  can  not  feel  it.' 

"  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing ;  but 
I  could  not  bear  to  see  Mrs.  Burns  cry.  I 
went  up  to  her  chair,  and  put  my  arms  round 
her  neck.  It  seemed  as  if  I  must  comfort 
her ;  but  I  did  not  know  how.  Presently 
she  took  me  in  her  arms.  I  would  rather 
not  write  here  all  that  she  said ;  but  the 
last  was,  '  Maggie  said,  since  you  were  here 


OR,  AM7  KUSHTON'S  MISSION.  161 

last,  she  had  felt  as  if  the  dear  Lord  helped 
her  to  bear  the  thought  of  leaving  us.  She 
gave  herself  and  us  all  into  his  care  very 
calmly  and  happily,  and  went  away  as  if 
she  were  only  going  to  sleep.' 

"  Mrs.  Burns  was  still  crying ;  but  she 
grew  more  quiet,  and  kissed  me  and  blessed 
me  —  as  she  said  —  for  Maggie's  sake  and  her 
own.  Then  Mr.  Ellery  said  more  pleasant 
things  about  Maggie,  and  comforted  Mrs. 
Burns ;  and  after  a  while  we  went  away. 
I  can  not  write  any  more  about  it.  Per 
haps  papa  will  not  care  if  I  do  not.  But, 
every  time  I  think  of  Maggie,  «it  seems  as 
if  I  could  hear  her  saying,  *  You  must  tell 
that  story  to  the  girls  in  our  class,  just  as 
you  have  me,  and  tell  them  I  wanted  you 
to.' 

"  How  can  I  do  it  ?  Perhaps  it  will  not 
be  so  hard,  for  Maggie's  sake.  Mr.  Ellery 
says  I  must  not  forget  that  it  is  for  Christ's 
11 


162  BOUNDBROOK. 

sake  too.  He  thinks  I  am  finding  out  what 
my  mission  is.  I  know  I  can  not  see  things 
so  plain  as  he  does ;  but  I  had  never  thought 
that  a  little  girl  could  have  a  mission.  It 
always  seemed  to  me  that  was  something 
that  belonged  only  to  great,  wise  people. 
Mr.  Ellery  says  it  does  not,  but  that  every 
Christian  has  their  share  of  God's  work  to 
do,  —  no  matter  whether  they  are  young  or 
old,  or  rich  or  poor,  or  whether  they  are 
learned  or  ignorant.  Some  can  do  it  better 
by  talking  to  crowds  of  people,  and  some 
by  only  a  word  here  and  there,  and  some 
others  only  by  trying  to  live  as  nearly  like 
Christ  as  possible,  and  loving  everybody  for 
his  sake ;  and  that,  he  says,  we  can  all  do. 
I  am  sure  it  is  all  I  can." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  "  OLD,   OLD  STOKY." 

JR.  ELLERY'S  class  in  the  Bound- 
brook  sabbath  school  consisted  of 
five  girls,  including  Amy,  who  was, 
by  "two  or  three  years,  the  youngest.  Mag 
gie  had  made  the  sixth.  She  had  been  a 
very  quiet  child,  not  often  speaking,  and 
then  only  when  drawn  out  by  her  intense 
interest  in  a  subject ;  but  her  face  always 
showed  that  she  was  intelligently  though 
silently  laying  up  the  instructions  of  the 
teacher. 

There    are    many  such    in    our    sabbath 
schools,  saying  little  or  nothing  on  the  one 

163 


164  BOUNDBROOK; 

great  lesson  we  meet  to  learn ;  yet  the 
words  of  truth  which  are  uttered  fall  into 
honest,  intelligent  hearts ;  and  we  know  the 
promise,  "  He  that  goeth  forth  and  weepeth, 
bearing  precious  seed,  shall  doubtless  return 
again  with  rejoicing,  bringing  his  sheaves  with 
him."  These  same  silent  listeners  are  often 
nearer  the  kingdom  than  we  think.  More 
wrestling  with  God  on  the  teacher's  part,  a 
more  childlike  trust  in  the  divine  promises, 
a  more  complete  consecration  to  the  one 
object,  brings  at  last  the  reward,  —  the  thirty, 
the  sixty,  and  the  hundred  fold ;  and  if, 
even  in  this  life,  no  fruit  is  seen,  who  shall 
say  that  a  glorious  harvest  may  not  be  ripen 
ing  in  secret,  to  burst  upon  the  glad  eyes 
of  the  sower  of  the  seed  when  he  shall  have 
gone  up  higher.  "According  to  your  faith 
be  it  unto  you." 

We  have  let  Amy  tell  in  her  own  words 
the  story  of  Maggie:   let  us  relate  how  she 


OR,  AMY  BUSHTON'S  MISSION.  165 

told  to  the  listening  class,  as  she  had  to 
Maggie,  the  way  in  which  she  had  learned 
the  old,  old  story  of  Jesus  and  his  love. 

It  was  the  Sunday  after  Maggie's  death 
and  funeral.  The  children  had  loved  Mag 
gie  for  her  still,  unobtrusive  ways ;  and  her 
care  for  her  younger  sister  and  brothers  at 
home  had  given  her  an  affectionate,  womanly 
manner  with  all  her  mates,  which  was  very 
winning.  There  was  a  sad  silence  in  the 
little  class  when  the  lesson  drew  to  a  close 
that  evening. 

Amy  had  said  nothing  to  Mr.  Ellery  of 
her  intention  to  fulfil  her  promise  to  Maggie 
at  this  time :  but  she  felt  it  too  sacred  to  be 
put  off  longer  ;  besides,  she  could  not  be  sure 
of  seeing  them  all  again.  It  was  a  very  low 
voice  that  asked  if  she  might  speak,  —  a  voice 
that  trembled  in  spite  of  itself,  but  grew  firm 
and  self-forgetful  as  it  went  on.  It  was  no 
gift  of  talking  that  made  the  words  come 


166  BOUNDBROOK; 

easily ;  for  Amy  had  not  that.  It  was  the 
depth  of  love  to  her  Saviour  that  had  been 
born  in  the  simple  child-heart,  and  the  ten 
der  anxiety  that  all  might  see  him  as  she  saw 
him,  that  gave  them  such  earnestness  and 
wistful  beauty.  No  eloquent  preacher's 
impassioned  description  of  .  the  scene  in 
Gethsemane,  or  the  Saviour's  sublime  suf 
fering  on  Calvary,  could  have  moved  an 
audience  as  those  unaffected  utterances  of  a 
child's  honest  heart,  telling  how  she  had 
been  ignorant  of  God,  and  had  first  learned 
about  him  ;  how  she  had  gone  to  him  with  her 
wrong  heart,  and  been  forgiven  (more  at 
length  than  we  can  tell  it  here),  but  giving 
truthfully  the  impression  of  the  feelings, 
which,  as  she  had  told  Maggie,  seemed  to  be 
only  between  God  and  herself. 

Amy  had  not  been  aware  that  any  were 
listening  save  those  for  whom  she  had 
specially  spoken.  The  large  class  of  young 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  167 

people  near  by  had  caught  the  first  words 
she  had  uttered  ;  and  an  instantaneous  hush 
had  settled  upon  them.  Not  a  movement 
among  them  prevented  a  syllable  being 
understood ;  and  the  intent  faces  spoke 
volumes.  Never  had  that  sabbath  school 
broken  up  so  quietly ;  but  Amy  knew  no 
reason  for  it,  nor  thought  of  any.  She 
thought  of  nothing  but  the  little  counte 
nances  that  had  been  before  her,  and  her 
eager  hope  that  they  would  love  the  Lord 
Jesus. 

Not  long  after  this,  Mr.  Rushton  came 
to  see  Amy,  and  as  usual,  before  he  went 
away,  asked  for  the  journal.  Amy  brought 
it  hesitatingly.  "  Father,"  said  she  as  he 
took  it,  "there  are  some  things  I  have  not 
written." 

"  Why  not,  Amy  ?  " 

"Because  they  seem  things  that  ought 
not  to  be  written ;  "  and  added,  "  I  would 


168  BOUNDBROOK; 

rather  not  write  so  much  about  myself, 
father." 

"  Not  for  me,  darling  ?  " 

"  I  could  for  you,  if  anybody,  father." 

Mr.  Rushton  noticed  her  flushed  cheeks, 
and  musingly  opened  the  book.  There  were 
her  faithful  records  of  every  day  still ;  but,  as 
he  could  see,  often  only  the  mere  outlines  of 
events.  He  understood  Amy  well  enough  to 
know  why. 

"  Don't  you  like  to  write,  Amy  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,  papa !  —  some  things." 

Mr.  Rushton  made  an  effort  to  treat  it 
carelessly. 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  he,  "  I've  tried  you 
sufficiently.  I  don't  care  to  have  you  doing 
this.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  enough  once  in  a 
while  ;  but  you  shall  write  no  more  in  this 
style.  When  you  want  me  very  much  to 
know  all  about  any  thing,  write  me  a  letter. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHfON'S  MISSION.  169 

That  will  be  better  ;  won't  it  ?    But  I  must 

.  -4 
have  the  book." 

His  hearty,  careless  tone  was  not  altogether 
assumed ;  and  it  served  to  set  Amy  at  rest,  as 
he  wished.  Henceforth  the  journal  was  to 
her  a  thing  of  the  past ;  but  to  Mr.  Rushton 
what  was  it  ?  He  carried  it  home,  and  locked 
it  carefully  in  his  private  desk.  Sometimes, 
when  he  was  weary  of  the  world  about  him, 
he  would  retire  to  his  room,  and  as  carefully 
take  out  the  little  treasure.  Over  and  over 
he  would  read  the  childish  story  of  Maggie 
Burns,  written  out  in  the  neat  but  unformed 
child's  hand,  and  smile  to  himself  that  he 
had  bade  her  write  truthfully.  He  had  not 
been  without  an  object  in  that.  Then  he 
would  replace  it,  and  walk  back  and  forth 
slowly,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  head 
bent,  thinking.  How  often,  as  he  fell  into 
this  mood,  would  his  wife  come  up,  and  with 
her  soft  laugh  inquire  what  new  steps  he 


170  BOUNDBJtOOK; 

was  practicing!      Then   he   would  smile  at 

% 

her  in  that  way  she  could  never  under 
stand,  and,  coming  to  himself,  would  accom 
pany  her  down  stairs  with  that  old  feeling 
coming  over  him,  that  Amy  was  slipping 
away  from  him  and  from  them  all.  Yet  it 
never  quickened  into  action  his  half-formed 
purpose  to  take  her  away  from  Mr.  Per- 
cival's. 

The  spring  went  on ;  and  the  Boundbrook 
sabbath  school  increased  in  numbers,  and,  to 
those  who  were  watching  for  the  germinating 
of  the  seed  sown  in  tears,  in  signs  of  deepen 
ing  interest.  The  pioneers  of  the  enterprise 
were  few, — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival,  Mr.  Ellery, 
and  one  or  two  others ;  but  they  were  brave 
and  trustful  hearts,  and  never  doubted  of  an 
ultimate  blessing.  To  such  the  blessing 
always  comes.  God's  conditions  never  wait 
for  fulfilment  when  those  on  his  people's  part 
are  performed. 


OR,  AMY  RUSTITON'S  MISSION.  171 

Amy  went  to  a  neighbor's  one  day  in  April 
on  an  errand  for  Mrs.  Percival,  which  was 
something  she  always  begged  to  do  when 
possible.  The  sky  was  clouded  when  she 
left  the  friend's  house  for  home  ;  but,  not  anti 
cipating  rain  immediately,  she  went  on  until 
the  fast-coming  shower  warned  her  to  take 
refuge  somewhere.  Happily  an  old  building 
was  not  far  off ;  and  under  its  wide  porch  she 
found  shelter.  She  had  not  stood  there  long, 
before  she  was  joined  by  Bertram  Morley, 
who  came  from  the  opposite  direction. 

"  Why,  Miss  Amy  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  how 
is  it  you  are  driven  to  this  place  for  shelter  ?  " 
Amy  explained. 

"  Well,"  said  the  lad,  —  he  might  almost 
have  been  called  a  young  man,  —  "  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it.  Take  this  seat,  Miss 
Amy,"  spreading  his  handkerchief  on  an  old 
stool.  "  I'm  in  a  sorry  condition  to  play  the 
knight  to  a  little  lady  like  you." 


172  LOUNDBROOE; 

"  There  is  no  need,"  Amy  returned,  laugh 
ingly.  "  You  shall  do  that  when  I  have  my 
snow-white  pony." 

"  Oh  !  there  must  be  a  palfrey  in  the  case, 
then,  according  to  the  old  ballad  we  were 
reading  the  other  day.  You  want  all  things 
in  true  knightly  style,  and,  of  course,  will 
expect  me  to  be  armed  and  equipped  with 
sword  and  lance,  ready  to  do  battle  with 
either  for  your  sake." 

"  Yes ;  or  you  could  not  be  a  true  knight, 
you  know.  And,  of  course,  you  would  not 
be  a  false  one,"  said  Amy,  laughing  again. 

"  Thank  you,  no.  But  I'm  not  knight 
enough  to  protect  you  from  this  rain. 
Delightful,  isn't  it  ?  Are  you  really  to  have 
a  pony,  Miss  Amy  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  not  a  white  one  like  the  lady 
in  the  story.  It's  to  be  brown,  I  think." 
Bertram  looked  very  much  as  if  he  would  be 
glad  to  play  the  knight  in  such  case.  "  How 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  173 

pleasant  that  will  be !  Can  Mr.  Percival 
teach  you  to  ride  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  he  can  teach  me  any  thing. 
That  is  what  I  am  here  for,  you  know,  — 
to  learn." 

"  I  am  learning,"  said  Bertram,  after 
silently  contemplating  the  rain  for  a  few 
minutes  ;  "  but  there  is  something  you  could 
teach  me,  Miss  Amy." 

*'  I  teach  you,  Mr.  Bertram !  "  exclaimed 
Amy.  "  I  don't  know  half  as  much  as 
you ! "  remembering  she  had  heard  that 
Bertram  was  one  of  the  best  scholars  in  the 
academy  at  West  Boundbrook.  It  flashed 
over  her  as  she  spoke  that  she  had  heard,  too, 
that  he  was  "rather  wild."  Amy  knew 
pretty  well  what  that  term  meant. 

"  You  could,"  Bertram  replied ;  but  he  did 
not  tell  her  what.  He  leaned  against  the 
side  of  the  doorway,  and  began  to  watch 
with  great  apparent  interest  the  descending 


174  BOUNDBROOK; 

rain.  Presently  he  laughed  outright.  "  Ex 
cuse  me,  Miss  Amy,"  said  he  ;  "  but  the  rain 
made  me  think  of  a  stupid  fellow  in  our 
school,  who  got  confused  one  day  when  the 
teacher  was  asking  where  the  rain  came  from  ; 
and  we,  who  were  sitting  behind  him,  told 
him  the  most  ridiculous  things  to  say,  and  it 
was  a  minute  or  two  before  he  saw  that  we 
were  fooling  him.  The  whole  school  was  in 
a  roar  of  laughter." 

Amy  looked  astonished.  "  Do  you  do  as 
you  please  in  school  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  no,"  Bertram  answered,  —  "  not 
always,  to  be  sure."  Her  unfeigned  look  of 
astonishment  and  pain  rested  on  Bertram's 
face.  He  colored,  and  was  vexed  with  him 
self  the  next  minute.  "  It  was  only  a  little 
fun,"  said  he. 

"  But  to  do  wrong  for  a  little  fun,"  said 
Amy,  and  stopped  suddenly,  remembering 
that  Bertram  was  some  years  older  than  she. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        175 

"  Well,  it  was'  wrong,  I  admit  it,  Miss 
Amy.  I'm  always  doing  such  things.  It's 
in  me.  I  can't  help  it.  I  might  as  well  try 
not  to  breathe.  But  the  rain  is  nearly  over, 
I  think,  now,  Miss  Rushton.  If  you  will  wait 
in  this  secluded  spot  for  the  return  of  your 
knight,  you  shall  presently  behold  him 
coming  to  your  relief,  not  with  spurs  and 
lance,  but,  alas  for  romance  !  with  overshoes 
and  umbrella;  Await  my  return,  fair  lady." 
And,  before  Amy  could  protest  against  it,  he 
was  off  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Percival's. 

While  he  was  gone,  Amy  fell  to  thinking. 
What  was  it  she  could  teach  him?  She 
thought  she  knew  one  thing  he  did  not ;  but 
she  could  hardly  hope  that  he  meant  that, 
and,  if  he  did,  it  must  have  been  more  in  fun 
than  in  earnest.  Amy  wondered  if  she  had 
any  thing  to  do  for  him  ?  Why  not  ?  Her 
mission  was  very  simple.  It  was  only  to  do 
ivhat  she  could. 


176  BOUNDBROOK; 

In  a  short  time  he  returned,  and  laid  her 
rubbers  at  her  feet.  "  Alas  that  I  have  no 
richer  trophies  to  lay  before  you !  "  he  sighed 
with  a  comical  face. 

Amy  laughed,  and  thanked  him  heartily 
for  his  kindness.  "  They  are  better  just  now 
than  richer  trophies,  Mr.  Bert."  But  her 
face  grew  wistful  as  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Miss 
Amy  ?  "  he  asked  with  sober  earnestness. 

"  I  was  wishing,"  she  replied  with  childish 
simplicity,  "  that  I  could  do  something  for 
you." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  expecting 
she  would  do  that  "  something  "  directly. 

Amy  was  humble,  and  naturally  rather 
shy  and  timid. 

But  the  thought  of  her  little  mission,  and 
her  deep  interest  in  Bertram, — for  he  was  one 
of  their  nearest  neighbor's  family,  and  they 
had  been  the  best  of  friends  ever  since  she 


OR,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  177 

had  come  to  Mr.  Percival's,  —  made  her 
brave.  "I  wish  I  could  help  you  to  be  a 
Christian,  Mr.  Bertram,"  she  said. 

She  had  said  it,  moved  by  her  tender  anxi 
ety  for  the  boy,  but  with  no  hope  of  any 
response.  And  perhaps  it  was  this  that 
made  her  voice  rather  fall  away  at  the  last. 

Bertram  stood  soberly  expectant ;  but  she 
said  no  more.  In  truth,  the  little  heart  was 
too  full  just  then. 

"Miss  Amy,"  said  he,  after  waiting  a 
moment,  "  I  am  willing  to  have  you  talk  to 
me.  I  told  you  you  could  teach  me  some 
thing  ;  and  I  meant  it.  I  was  not  in  fun. 
I'm  wild,  I  know,  and  full  of  nonsense  ;  but  I 
do  think  about  other  things  sometimes.  You 
think  I'm  not  in  earnest ;  but  I  believe  I  am. 
And  I  wish  —  I  wish  you  would  only  tell  me 
that  little  story  about  yourself,  that  you  told 
the  girls  in  your  class  after  Maggie  died." 

Amy's  face  dropped  in  her  hands. 
12 


178  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  I've  been  thinking  about  it  a  great  deal 
since,"  said  Bertram,  —  "  when  I  haven't  been 
with  the  boys,  and  often  when  I  have. 
Couldn't  you  tell  me  any  more,  Amy  ?  " 

"  I  told  them  all,"  said  Amy,  raising  her 
head,  and  speaking  very  humbly.  "  I  promised 
Maggie  I  would."  They  were  silent  again. 

"  Miss  Amy,"  said  Bertram,  breaking  the 
silence  first,  and  speaking  low,  "  I've  wished 
ever  since  then  that  I  was  a  Christian.  But 
I'm  so  easily  tempted,  and  always  getting 
into  some  scrape.  I  couldn't  be  the  right 
sort  of  one.  I  don't  know  as  it  would  be  of 
any  use  for  me  to  try." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Amy,  u  that  you 
haven't  any  thing  to  do  with  that  part  of  it. 
It's  God  that  makes  you  a  Christian ;  and  it's 
God  that  keeps  you.  one.  You  won't  have  it 
to  do  all  alone." 

It  was  a  new  thought  to  Bertram,  or  rather 
it  came  to  him  then  as  something  new. 


OR,  AMY  RUSH  TON'S  MISSION.  179 

Doubtless  it  was  because  the  Spirit  was 
really  at  work  in  his  heart.  Still  he  wanted 
to  question  farther. 

"But,  Miss  Amy,"  he  asked,  "if  God 
does  it  all,  then  I've  nothing  to  do  ?  He  will 
make  me  a  Christian  when  he  pleases." 

"  Can  he  if  you  are  not  really  earnest 
about  it,  Mr.  Bertram  ?  " 

"  Can  you  show  me  any  thing  that  will 
prove  that  ?  I  have  a  Testament  with  me." 
He  produced  a  small  one  from  his  pocket. 

"  I  do  not  know  a  great  deal  of  the  Bible," 
said  Amy,  turning  over  the  leaves.  "But 
here,  after  this  story  about  the  man  who 
went  to  his  friend  at  night  for  bread,  it  says, 
'  Ask  and  seek  and  knock.'  It  does  not  say 
God  will  give  just  because  we  are  willing 
that  he  should.  It  seems  to  me  there  is 
something  for  us  to  do,  Mr.  Bertram,  because 
there's  what  God  promises,  —  for  asking,  re 
ceiving  ;  for  seeking,  finding ;  for  knocking, 


180  BOUNDBROOK; 

opening.  It's  plain,  isn't  it?  I  never 
thought  of  it  just  like  that  before. 

"  It  isn't  just  being  willing,  Mr.  Bertram," 
she  resumed. 

"  I  was  willing  to  be  a  Christian  when  I 
first  began  to  learn  about  God  here  ;  but  he 
couldn't  make  me  one  until  I  was  in  earnest 
about  it." 

"No,"  said  Bertram  thoughtfully,  who 
had  taken  tlie  Testament,  and  was  marking 
the  place.  "  That  would  be  treating  us  as  if 
we  had  no  minds  of  our  own  ;  and  perhaps 
God  wouldn't  want  a  love  that  didn't  come 
of  our  own  will  at  last. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  keeping  you  too  long, 
Miss  Amy.  Shall  we  go  now?  Let  me 
carry  the  umbrella.  There  are  some  drops 
falling  yet." 

They  went  home  rather  silently,  Amy's 
heart  full  of  one  thought.  It  found  expres 
sion  when  they  parted  at  the  door.  "  Mr. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  181 

Bertram,"  said  she,  "you  won't  forget  one 
thing?" 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  asked,  thinking  he 
knew,  but  willing  she  should  tell  him. 

"  To  be  in  earnest." 

Bertram's  cheeks  flushed ;  and,  boy  though 
he  was,  his  lips  quivered.  "  I  mean  to  be 
in  earnest,  Miss  Amy,"  he  said  soberly. 
"  Will  you  pray  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  answered  with  a  child's  sim 
plicity  ;  but  the  boy  felt  the  depth  of  feeling 
that  lay  beneath.  He  went  home  to  seek 
for  the  better  way.  And  whatever  Bertram 
Morley  did  was  done  with  his  whole  heart. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GOD'S   HARVEST. 

"WO  Sundays  after  this,  when  the  even 
ing  lessons  were  over  at  the  sabbath 
school,  Mr.  Ellery  rose,  and  in  a  few 
words  addressed  the  people,  saying  that  he 
believed  God's  Spirit  was. striving  with  some 
hearts  there,  and  tenderly  and  solemnly 
urging  them  not  to  resist  his  pleading. 
There  might  be  some,  also,  who  felt  that 
they  had  already  begun  to  walk  in  a  new 
way;  and  perhaps  they  would  like  to  tell 
others  what  a  blessing  they  had  found.  It 
might  be  there  were  those  there  who  would 
be  led  to  Christ  by  such  testimony.  As  he 

182 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  183 

sat  down,  the  room  was  hushed  to  absolute 
silence,  —  the  "  silence  of  silence,"  one 
might  have  said. 

Bertram  Morley  rose.  In  a  few  simple, 
straightforward  words  he  stated  his  new 
purposes,  —  how  he  had,  in  the  midst  of  his 
wild  frolics  and  his  studies,  and  when  alone, 
for  weeks  been  hearing,  as  it  were,  a  voice 
calling  to  him,  "  My  son,  give  me  thine 
heart."  He  told  how  at  first  he  had  resisted 
it,  and  at  last  had  been  won  by  its  pleading 
to  give  himself,  with  all  his  sinfulness,  to 
God.  Then  he  had  first  known  the  joy  of 
forgiveness.  Never  before  had  he  felt  how 
little  power  he  had  to  resist  temptation  ;  but 
he  was  sure  of  help  from  a  higher  source  now. 
The  joy  of  feeling  that  God  was  his  friend 
was  more  than  every  thing  he  had  ever 
known  in  his  life.  "  And  now,"  said  he,  "  I 
want  you  all  to  come  with  me.  Who  will 
come?" 


184  BOUNDBROOK; 

There  was  silence  no  longer.  Some  wept. 
Most  of  the  lads  in  the  class  to  which  Ber 
tram  belonged  sat  with  bowed  heads  and 
pale  cheeks.  God  was  in  controversy  with 
them  :  would  they  still  withhold  his  due  ? 

One  rose  and  sat  down  with  only  the 
murmured  words,  "  Pray  for  me,"  on  his 
lips ;  another,  and  another.  The  ice  was 
broken  ;  reserve  gave  way.  One  told  broken 
ly,  how  a  little  child's  story  of  her  own  con 
version,  not  intended  for  his  ear,  had  reached 
it,  and  his  heart  too,  and  had  roused  him  to 
look  at  his  own  needs. 

Thus  was  God,  making  a  child's  words  the 
immediate  spring  of  it  all,  about  to  gather 
for  himself  a  harvest  here.  Yet  she  had 
only  done  "  what  she  could." 

It  proved  to  be  a  deep  and  thorough  work. 
Week  after  week  the  earnest  solemnity  of 
the  meeting  continued,  broken  only  by  the 
frequent,  joyous  testimony  of  those  who  had 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        185 

found  the  "  pearl  of  great  price."  From  the 
village  where  the  mills  were,  two  miles  dis 
tant,  numbers  came  to  see  what  was  going 
on.  They  had  heard  there  was  a  "  religious 
excitement."  They  did  not  find  it  as  they 
expected.  True,  it  was  excitement,  if  the 
attention  of  people  concentrated  in  thorough 
earnest  on  one  theme  can  be  called  excite 
ment.  But  it  was  not  noise :  the  feeling  was 
too  deep  for  that.  It  was  not  the  froth, 
which  rises  to  the  surface,  and  floats  away  in 
vapor,  or  settles  back  into  the  element  be 
neath.  God  was  in  the  midst  of  it.  His 
hand  girded  his  people  for  the  work. 

Once  during  this  time,  Mr.  Rushton  came, 
remaining  as  usual  over  night.  At  twilight 
Mr.  Percival  excused  himself  for  an  hour  or 
so,  saying  that  he  wished  to  attend  a  prayer- 
meeting.  "  I  should  be  very  glad,"  he 
added,  "  if  you  would  attend  with  me,  but 
can  not  ask  you  to  leave  Amy." 


186  BOUNDBROOE; 

"  Does  Amy  never  go  ? "  inquired  Mr. 
Rushton. 

"  We  have  not  thought  it  best  in  the 
evening,"  Mr.  Percival  returned. 

"  I  have  a  great  curiosity,  for  which  you 
will  perhaps  pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Rushton, 
"to  see  these  meetings,  of  which  I  have 
heard  elsewhere.  With  your  permission, 
Mrs.  Percival,  Amy  shall  go  with  us  this 
evening." 

This  arrangement  being  made,  the  little 
company  wended  their  way  to  the  school- 
house,  where  they  found  a  large  number 
assembled.  Of  the  meeting  itself  we  will 
not  particularly  speak.  Amy's  inward  com 
ment  was,  that  it  seemed  as  if  God  was  talk 
ing  with  every  one  there.  Doubtless  she 
was  right. 

"  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton  next  morning, 
as  they  were  in  the  garden  walking  before 
breakfast,  "are  all  your  meetings  here  like 
that  last  night?" 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  187 

"  I  have  only  been  to  sabbath  school, 
father.  After  that,  there  is  a  meeting;  and 
it  is  like  this,  I  think." 

"  And  these  people  who  say  they  have 
been  converted —  do  you  know  any  of  them  ? 
Are  they  different  at  all  from  what  they  were 
before  ?  " 

"  I  know  some  of  the  children,  papa, — two 
or  three  in  the  class  with  me.  They  were 
very  naughty  sometimes,  and  often  in  the 
class  were  rude,  and  did  not  listen  :  they  are 
different  now." 

"  And  those  lads  that  spoke  —  what  do  you 
know  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  know  Bertram  Morley  best,  father:  he 
is  very  different.  Some  of  the  girls  told  me 
he  used  to  do  very  wrong  things  at  school, 
and,  out  of  school,  was  always  getting  into 
trouble  with  people.  Some  of  these  other 
boys  used  to  swear  dreadfully." 

"  And  do  you  think  they  will  never  do 
these  things  any  more,  my  child?" 


188  BOUNDBROOK; 

Amy  wondered  at  her  father's  questioning. 
"  I  think  they  will  try  to  keep  from  it  in  a 
way  they  never  did  before." 

"  And  you  think  they  will  all  be  the  best 
sort  of  people  now  ?  "  he  continued,  with  a 
touch  of  irony  in  his  voice  that  Amy  did  not 
perceive. 

"  Not  unless  they  are  real  true  Christians, 
father." 

"  Are  you  ever  naughty  now,  Amy  ?  " 

Her  answer  was  sad  but  truthful.  "  Yes, 
father,  I  have  been  proud  and  angry  too." 

"  Just  as  angry  as  you  ever  were,  my 
child  ?  " 

"  No,  papa,"  she  replied  with  tears  :  "  at 
least,  not  for  so  long.  I  had  to  fight  hard 
with  myself.  But " — 

"  But  what,  dear  ?  "  seeing  that  it  was  dif 
ficult  for  her  to  speak. 

"  Jesus  helped  me." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ?  " 


OR^  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  189 

"  Because,  when  I  prayed,  the  angry  feel 
ings  began  to  go  away." 

Mr.  Rushton  changed  the  subject.  "  Who 
was  that  gray-haired  man  that  spoke  about 
having  given  up  his  business,  —  liquor,  I 
think?" 

"  I  don't  know  his  name,  father.  He  conies 
from  the  Mill  Village.  It's  all  true:  Mr. 
Percival  knows  all  about  him." 

Mr.  Rushton  asked  no  more  questions ;  but, 
as  they  walked  slowly  about  the  garden, 
Amy's  heart  struggled  with  a  question  she 
had  often  wanted  to  ask.  It  came.  "  Fath 
er,  don't  you  believe  in  loving  God  and 
Jesus  ?  " 

He  could  not  bring  pain  into  that  little 
pleading  face  by  saying  No. 

"  You  think  I  don't,  Amy.  Am  I  not  good 
enough?  "  he  asked  lightly. 

"  You're  my  dear,  good  papa  !  "  exclaimed 
the  child,  clinging  to  his  hand.  "  But  " — 
She  could  not  <?^  *V  " 


190  BOUNDBROOE; 

"Then,  don't  distress  your  little  heart 
about  me.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  do  believe 
in,  Amy.  I  believe  in  a  good  life  ;  and  I 
want  to  see  the  highest  standard  reached  by 
my  little  girl :  'tisn't  so  much  matter  about 
me.  It's  every  thing  to  live  right,  Amy. 
Most  people  talk  too  much,  but  don't  act  ac 
cordingly.  I  like  to  see  one's  actions  agree 
with  one's  words.  Isn't  that  best,  dear? 
Come,  there's  the  breakfast-bell." 

Amy  went  in  to  breakfast  somewhat  com 
forted,  but  not  fully  satisfied.  It  was  a  sor 
rowfully  earnest  petition  that  went  up  for 
her  father  that  night  from  the  childish  lips. 
If  he  could  have  heard  it ! 

We  have  no  space  to  spare  for  a  detailed 
account  of  the  revival  in  Boundbrook ;  but 
a  light  was  kindled  then  that  never  went  out, 
nor  ever  will.  When  God  shall  make  up  his 
jewels,  many  from  that  little  mission-school 
"  shall  shine  as  the  brightness  of  the  firma 
ment  and  as  the  stars  for  ever  and  ever." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        191 


Weeks  and  months,  years  even,  speed  by 
with  incredible  swiftness.  We  plant  seeds, 
and  have  scarcely,  as  it  seems,  ceased  from 
our  planting,  and,  lo  !  they  have  sprung  up 
and  are  blooming  for  fruit.  Men  launch  into 
some  branch  of  business ;  and,  before  they 
have  hardly  commenced  to  understand  its 
intricacies,  they  find  themselves  growing  old 
in  it.  The  child  who  pleased  us  with  the 
utterances  of  childish  thoughts  but  yester 
day  has  suddenly  matured  into  the  youth. 

So  with  our  friends  at  Boundbrook  in  the 
lapse  of  a  few  years ;  yet  so  lightly  have 
they  passed  over  them,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Percival  are  scarcely  changed.  Amy  counts 
fifteen  now  in  years :  they  think  her  a  child 
yet,  and  very  contented  is  she  to  be  so.  Mr. 
Rushton  sometimes  thinks  her  wanting  in 
knowledge  of  the  world ;  albeit  he  has  many 
times  taken  her  home  for  the  holidavs  to 


192 

give  her  glimpses  of  the  life  she  is  yet 
to  take  up.  To  this  life  Amy  is  beginning  to 
look  forward  with  a  secret  dread.  Upon  her 
girlish  understanding  convictions  are  gradu 
ally  dawning  that  were  never  wont  to  find  a 
place  there.  She  tries  to  put  them  away ; 
tries  to  think  of  her  mother  as  mother;  con 
demns  herself  for  not  gaining  her  love ; 
writes  her  affectionate  letters:  but  the  old 
reserve  is  there  still.  The  other  friends  with 
whom  we  made  acquaintance  at  Boundbrook 
are  working  there  yet.  Bertram  Morley  and 
the  other  lads  who  with  him  began  to  live 
for  God  have  gone  more  or  less  steadily  on, 
rejoicing  in  a  brightening  and  a  widening 
path.  Bertram  will  study  for  the  ministry. 
Outwardly  the  sabbath  school  has  in  many 
respects  changed.  The  same  classes  are  not 
found  in  all  parts  of  the  schoolroom.  A  few 
have  gone  over  the  threshold  to  new  homes 
of  their  own ;  some  have  crossed  the  thresh- 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  193 

old  of  the  pearly  gates.  New  faces  are  there. 
The  school  has  increased  to  twice  its  former 
numbers.  Their  next  step  will  be  to  build  a 
church  edifice. 

Where  is  the  class  of  little  girls  to  which 
Amy  belonged,  and  their  teacher?  Little 
girls  no  longer.  You  would  hardly  recognize 
any  except  Amy  in  the  young  ladies  that 
meet  as  regularly  as  ever  in  the  dear  old 
place.  Ah,  how  often  still  do  they  think  of 
Maggie  there  ! 

Twice  has  Mr.  Ellery  been  called  away 
from  his  studies  at  the  seminary ;  so  that 
now  he  is  but  just  completing  them,  pre 
paratory  to  going  out  into  the  work  in  the 
wide  world.  And  this  is  his  last  Sunday  at 
Boundbrook.  They  gather  round  him  at  the 
close  of  school;  but  words  are  not  many. 
There  are  too  many  tender  memories  stirred. 
Does  Maggie  look  down  from  her  heavenly 
home,  smiling  to  think  how  safely  they  have 

13 


BOUNDBKOOK; 

been  kept  there,  and  how  surely  they  are 
coming  towards  her ;  smiling  to  see  how 
thoroughly  girded  for  the  battle  is  Mr.  Ellery, 
and  how  swiftly,  even  in  a  long  life,  the  con 
flict  will  have  passed  ;  smiling  at  Amy's  fair, 
innocent  face,  and  the  sweet  lips,  with  their 
childish  expression  still,  that  told  her  the  old 
"  sweet  story,"  whose  truth  was  made  known 
to  her  so  soon  in  glory  ?  Perhaps ;  we  can  not 
tell.  It  is  pleasant  to  think  it  may  be  so. 
But,  when  Maggie's  name  was  spoken  there 
that  evening,  it  was  with  sacred  joy,  not 
grief.  "  She  has  only  gone  a  little  while 
first,"  said  one.  "  And  in  going  made  the  way 
clearer  for  us,"  said  another.  They  thought 
of  the  little  child's  story,  that  had  been  re 
peated  for  their  sakes  at  Maggie's  request, 
and  were  silent. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival,  with  Amy,  lingered 
on  their  way  home  till  Mr.  Ellery  and  Ber 
tram  Morley  should  join  them.  "  Let  us 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  195 

walk  together  this  last  time,"  said  Mr.  Per- 
cival.  "  Bertram,  do  you  leave  us  with  Mr. 
Ellery?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  to-morrow  morning." 

"  We  shall  miss  you  sadly.  But  you  go  to 
get  ready  for  the  glorious  battle-field." 

"And  yet,"  said  Bertram  humbly,  "it 
seems  to  me  I  could  hardly  have  courage  to 
leave  the  dear  old  place  without  Mr.  Ellery, 
even  though  it  will  not  be  for  long.  If  God 
wills,  I  shall  soon  come  back  to  study  here." 

"  May  God  so  will !  "  said  Mrs.  Percival  fer 
vently  ;  "  for  we  do  not  know  how  to  spare 
you,  Bertram." 

Mr.  Ellery  was  walking  near  Amy.  "  You 
will  find  double  work  to  do  now,"  he  said. 
"  May  I  leave  a  commission  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Mr.  Ellery,"  said  Amy  eagerly. 
"  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  any  thing  I  may." 

"  Thank  you.  You  know  the  Spencer 
family  that  live  at  the  edge  of  the  woods  as 


196  BOUNDBROOK; 

you  go  to  West  Boundbrook.  Will  you  see 
them  sometimes,  if  possible  ?  You  will  soon 
find  what  you  can  do  for  them.  But  I  must 
lay  one  restriction  upon  you,  Amy." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  That  you  never  go  alone." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  Mr.  Ellery,"  she  re 
turned. 

"  I  know  it ;  but,  unless  you  promise,  I 
shall  give  the  commission  to  some  one  else." 

"  Then  I  promise." 

He  thanked  her.  "You  will  be  doing 
'highway  and  hedge'  work  there,  Amy. 
You  understand  me  ?  " 

He  knew  she  did,  seeing  the  light  in  her 
intelligent  eyes.  "  And,  far  more  than  doing 
it  for  me,  you  are  doing  it  for  the  Master. 
Bring  them  in  to  the  feast  with  you,  Amy. 
The  Master  will  be  looking  for  them  there. 
Oh,  my  child!  what  a  delight  to  serve  our 
Lord  thus,  —  to  gather  the  lame,  the  halt,  and 


OR,  AMY  BUSHTON'S  MISSION.  197 

the  blind  to  sit  at  his  table  !     '  And  yet  there 
is  room  ! ' : 

His  eyes  —  always  so  kind,  and  to  Amy  so 
expressive     of     sympathy    with     whatever 
thought  was  in  her  mind  —  were  fixed  on  hers 
as  he  spoke,  and  brightened  with  a  deep  joy 
that   even  she  had  never  seen  there  before. 
She  did  not  know  how  intelligently  her  own 
answered  them.     He  only   added,    "  Do  not 
forget  your  mission,  dear  child.     Only  four 
little  words  express  it,  '  Do  what  you  can.'  " 
They  had  reached  Mr.  Percival's  gate  :  there 
were   a    few  brief    words  of    parting,  and, 
almost  before  any    of  the  party  realized  it, 
they  were  gone.  More  than  one  heart  echoed 
"  gone,"  sadly,  yet  hopefully,  as  those  that 
love  the  Lord.     Let  the  years   again   close 
over  them,  till  three  shall  have  been  counted 
off  by  the  circuit  of  our  revolving  planet. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

LAST   DAYS  AT  BOUNDBROOK. 

"  Who  can  paint 

Like  Nature  ?     Can  imagination  boast 
Amid  its  gay  creation  hues  like  hers  ? 
Or  can  it  mix  them  with  that  matchless  skill, 
And  lose  them  in  each  other,  as  appears 
In  everv  bud  that  blows  ?  " 

i 
UCH  were  the  words  that  Mr.  Rushton 

quoted,  standing  by  the  parlor-window 
in  the  gray  stone  cottage,  which  looked 
out  upon  the  lawn  and  the  blue  river.  It  was 
the  occasion  of  his  last  visit  there  before  he 
should  come  to  take  Amy  away  finally.  All 
day  the  family  had  been  enjoying  to  the  full 

108 


AMY  KUSHTON'S  MISSION.  199 

tlie  fragrant  spring  weather,  by  riding,  boat 
ing,  and  excursions  into  the  woods.  The 
return  of  the  mellow  twilight  had  brought  a 
correspondingly  subdued  mood ;  and  for  near 
ly  half  an  hour  each  had  been  busy  with  his 
own  thoughts,  until  the  quietness  had  been 
broken  by  Mr.  Rush  ton's  voice. 

"  Who,  indeed,  like  Nature  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Percival,  joining  Mr.  Rushton  and  Amy  at 
the  window.  "  Is  not  this  beauty  the  hand 
writing,  as  it  were,  of  Nature's  God  ?  —  his 
silent  but  weighty  epistles  to  us  ?  Let  me 
place  beside  yours  some  lines  from  one  of 
our  modern  poets,  — 

" '  Go  abroad 

Upon  the  paths  of  nature  ;  and  when  all 
Its  voices  whisper,  and  its  silent  things 
Are  breathing  the  deep  beauty  of  the  world, 
Kneel  at  its  simple  altar ;  and  the  God 
Who  hath  the  living  waters  shall  be  there.' " 


200  BOUXDBROOK; 

"  They  are  beautiful,  truly,"  returned  Mr. 
Rushton.  "  Come,  Mrs.  Percival,  our  circle 
is  not  complete  :  let  us  have  your  tribute  to 
the  hour  and  the  theme." 

So  the  lady,  joining  them,  throws  one  arm 
about  Amy,  and,  gazing  thoughtfully  upon 
the  landscape  just  softening  into  the  first 
gray  tinge  of  twilight,  repeats,  — 

"  A  paler  shadow  casts 
Its  mantle  o'er  the  mountains  :  parting  day 
Dies  like  the  dolphin,  whom  each  pang  imbues 
With  a  new  color  as  it  gasps  away,  — 
The  last  still  loveliest,  —  till  'tis  gone,  and  all  is  gray." 

"  I  have  repeated  these  lines,"  she  added, 
"more  as  appropriate  to  the  scene  than 
because  the  passage  is  my  favorite,  though  I 
like  it.  It  is  very  fine ;  and  I  would  that 
Byron  had  never  written  sentiments  less 
worthy  of  his  genius." 

"  Now,  Amy,"  said  Mr.   Rushton,  "  it  is 


OR,  AM7  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  201 

*n|k 

your  turn.  What  have  you  to  bring  as  your 
favorite  ?  What  is  it  that  has  kept  you  so 
thoughtfully  musing  ?  " 

Amy's  clear  eyes  rested  on  his  face  a 
moment  before  she  spoke.  All  through  the 
conversation  of  the  last  few  minutes,  there 
had  been  floating  through  her  mind,  awak 
ened  by  an  old  association,  some  disconnected 
fragments  of  the  one  hundred  and  fourth 
Psalm.  She  had  heard  them  repeated  at  just 
such  an  hour  as  this  by  lips  that  exulted  to 
dwell  on  such  a  theme.  And,  with  almost 
the  same  feeling  of  exultation,  she  gave  them 
now  :  — 

"  O  Lord,  my  God,  thou  art  very  great : 
thou  art  clothed  with  honor  and  majesty. 

"  Who  coverest  thyself  with  light  as  with 
a  garment :  who  stretchest  out  the  heavens 
like  a  curtain : 

"  Who  layeth  the  beams  of  his  chambers 
in  the  waters :  who  maketh  the  clouds  his 


202  BOUNDBROOK;  + 

chariot :  who  walketh  upon  the  wings  of  the 
wind : 

"  "Who  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth, 
that  it  should  not  be  removed  for  ever." 

"  He  appointed  the  moon  for  seasons :  the 
sun  knoweth  his  going-down." 

"  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  interrupting 
her  with  a  slightly  vexed  look,  "  where  do 
you  get  that  ?  " 

They  were  very  expressive  lips  that  an 
swered,  "  From  the  Bible,  father." 

"  And  is  there  nothing  finer  in  literature 
than  that  ?  I  am  afraid  your  reading  has 
been  exclusive,  Amy."  His  last  words  were 
uttered  with  that  fine  touch  of  sarcasm  of 
which  Mr.  Rushton  was  sometimes  capable  ; 
and,  turning  from  the  group  at  the  window, 
he  crossed  the  room  to  a  table,  and  began 
nervously  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  port 
folio.  He  very  soon  became  aware"  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Percival  had  left  them  alone. 


OR,  AMY  KUSHTON'S  MISSION.  203 

Amy  was  keeping  her  stand  at  the  win 
dow  ;  her  face  indeed  showing  pain,  but  it 
was  not  the  pain  that  sees  no  light  beyond 
the  present  trial.  It  was  not  in  Mr.  Rushton 
to  indulge  such  humor  long.  "  Amy,"  said 
he  abruptly,  "  come  here,  my  daughter." 
She  went  quickly  to  him. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  wound  you,  Amy,"  he 
said ;  "  but  I  must  protest  against  this 
exclusiveness.  I  can't  have  you  becoming 
so  rigid  in  your  religion.  This  may  do  very 
well  for  your  friends  here,  but  consider  that 
it  would  be  quite  out  of  place  in  society  such 
as  you  will  find  at  our  own  home." 

"  Father,"  said  Amy,  and  he  felt  that  the 
clear  eyes,  honest  as  a  child's  still,  were  on 
his  face,  though  he  did  not  look  up  to  meet 
them,  "  God  is  not  out  of  place  anywhere  ; 
and  why  should  his  words  be  ?  " 

;'  Then  I  will  only  say,  Amy,  it  will  not  be 
best  for  you  to  quote  such  words  there." 


204  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Father,  dear  father,  can  any  thing  be 
better  than  to  be  truthful  ?  Did  you  not  ask 
me  for  what  was  in  my  thoughts  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  protest  against.  I  don't 
know  why  such  things  need  be  uppermost  in 
your  thoughts  ?  Has  Mr.  Percival  trained 
you  to  be  always  pondering  Bible  verses  ?  " 

It  was  unlike  Mr.  Rushton,  the  bitterness 
and  petulance  with  which  this  was  said ;  and 
Amy's  composure  was  nearly  overthrown. 

But  she  answered  presently,  "  No,  dear 
father :  Mr.  Percival  has  taught  me  very  little 
of  this." 

"  Are  you  not  well  read  in  the  poets  ?  I 
had  supposed  you  were,  Amy." 

"  I  believe  Mr.  Percival  thinks  I  have  read 
them  to  some  profit,  father;  but  I  find 
grand  poetry  in  the  Bible." 

"  Give  me  a  stanza  appropriate  to  the 
subject  we  were  contemplating,"  said  he, 
ignoring  her  last  remark. 


OK,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.          205 

Amy  collected  her  scattered  thoughts  as 
well  as  she  could,  and  gave  the  first  that 
came  into  her  mind  :  — 

"  The  tender  twilight  -with  a  crimson  cheek 
Leans  on  the  breast  of  evening. 
How  tenderly  the  trembling  light  yet  plays 
On  the  far-waving  foliage  !     Day's  last  blush 
Still  lingers  on  the  billowy  waste  of  leaves 
With  a  strange  beauty,  like  the  yellow  flush 
That  haunts  the  ocean  when  the  day  goes  by." 

"  Thank  you,  Amy.  I  do  not  know  the 
author." 

"  McLellan,  father."  In  her  ordinary 
mood  Amy  would  have  added  more  ;  but  her 
voice  would  not  be  steady  now.  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  apparently  did  not  notice  it. 

"  Now,  daughter,  let  me  have  something 
from  the  French." 

She  gave  him  a  stanza  from  "U Enfant 
Aveugle" 


206  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Good.     The  German." 

It  was  done,   with  voice  that    began  to 
steady  itself. 

"  Thank  you.  What  was  your  last  Latin 
reading  ?  " 

"  Parts  of  Horace  and  Livy,  father." 

"  Yes :  shall  we  hear  a  few  lines  from 
Horace  ?  " 

She  gave  a  well-remembered  quotation. 

"  It's  a  good  selection,  daughter  ;  and  now 
sing  to  me  with  the  piano  or  harp,  as  you 
please." 

"  Shall  I  choose  from  religious  or  secular 
music,  father  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  like  best,  Amy." 

Whatever  she  liked  best !  She  would 
rather  he  had  not  said  that.  She  turned 
over  the  leaves  of  her  music  till  she  found  a 
sweet  little  Scotch  ballad. 

Choosing  her  harp,  she  seated  herself 
beside  it ;  and  the  song  was  rendered  with 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  207 

happy  effect.  She  had  a  sweet  and  pure 
though  not  strong  voice  ;  and,  as  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  listened,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  it  might 
almost  be  "  his  mother's  voice  singing  in 
paradise." 

As  he  did  not  ask  for  more,  Amy  left  her 
harp,  and  went  to  his  side.  It  was  growing 
dark ;  and  she  could  not  see  that  his  eyes 
were  dim,  but  she  felt  it  the  instant  he 
spoke.  He  gathered  her  in  his  arms  as  if  she 
had  been  a  child  still.  "  Amy,  darling,  I 
have  been  cruel  to  you  to-night.  Will  you 
forgive  me  ? '; 

"  Forgive  you,  dear  father  ?  "  she  put  her 
finger  on  his  lips :  "  there  is  nothing  that 
needs  forgiveness."  She  kissed  him  again 
and  again.  "  O  father,  if  you  would  come 
with  me  in  the  way  I  love  best  I  I  want  you 
to  be  a  Christian,  father." 

He  did  not  answer  her  ;  and  when,  after  a 
while,  he  spoke,  his  words  went  far  wide  of 


208  SOUNDBROOK; 

her  thoughts.  "  Amy,  how  do  you  think 
you  will  bear  all  that  you  will  be  brought 
in  contact  with  at  our  own  home  ?  " 

How  often  she  had  thought  of  this!  "Not 
in  my  own  strength,  father." 

"  In  the  company  that  comes  to  our  house 
you  will  find  many  who  will  sneer  at  you  in 
their  polite  way,  —  some,  without  doubt,  who 
are  wise,  profound  thinkers  :  can  you  meet 
them  bravely  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  father,"  said  the  clear, 
steady  voice.  "  It  is  not  I,  it  is  Christ  that 
liveth  in  me.  His  words  will  bear  their 
weight  anywhere." 

"  But  if,  as  it  might  happen,  seeing  your, 
shall  I  say  rigid  adherence  to  these  doctrines, 
they  should  attack  you  openly,  have  you 
arguments  with  which  you  could  meet 
them  ?  " 

"  I  could  give  a  reason  for  the  hope  that  is 
in  me,  father,"  she  replied  humbly.  "The 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  209 

truth  of  the  gospel  needs  no  better  argument. 
'  I  know  whom  I  have  believed.' ' 

He  thought  he  had  never  heard  her  voice 
clearer  and  sweeter. 

"  Amy,"  said  he  after  a  few  minutes'  si 
lence,  "  where  are  your  friends  Mr.  Ellery 
and  Bertram  Morley  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Ellery  is  at  the  same  place.  Bertram 
is  here  at  the  seminary,  studying." 

"  Are  they  successful,  or  likely  to  be  so  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Ellery  is  spoken  of  as  being  very 
gifted,  father ;  but  he  is  one  who  thinks  only 
of  the  object  of  his  ministry,  not  of  parading 
his  gifts.  And  Bertram  —  father,  I  think  you 
would  not  know  him.  He  preached  at  our 
new  church  here  last  Sunday." 

"  Indeed  !  If  he  is  finer  looking  as  a  man 
than  as  a  boy,  I  would  like  to  see  him  ;  for  it 
seemed  to  me  there  was  never  a  nobler  face, 
except  Mr.  Ellery's.  They  might  be  broth- 

14 


210  BOUNDBROOE, 

ers  in  that  respect.  How  far  away  is  Mr. 
Ellery?" 

"  I  think  it  is  not  more  than  twenty  miles 
to  Dayton,  where  he  preaches." 

"  Does  he  come  often  to  Boundbrook  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  father !  He  is  too  constantly  at 
work." 

The  entrance  of  a  servant  with  lights 
interrupted  the  conversation  here,  and  it  was 
not  resumed. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MRS.   RUSHTON. 

RS.   RUSHTON  was   deep  in  consul 
tation  with  her   seamstress.      Costly 

fabrics  lay  scattered  about  the  room,  — 
-  & 

silks  and  delicate  muslins  and  laces.  Per 
fumed  boxes  filled  with  elegant  handkerchiefs, 
boxes  of  gloves,  boxes  of  jewelry,  lay  here 
and  there  in  careless  confusion. 

Now,  Mrs.  Rushton  was  usually  haughty 
and  uncommunicative  with  the  young  girl 
who  came  daily  to  sew  for  her,  and  who 
was  no  other  than  a  sister  of  our  little  dwarf, 
Robert  Bernhard ;  but,  in  the  excitement 

to  which  her  feminine  vanity  was  raised  by 

211 


212  UOUNDKROOK. 

the  display  around,  she  became  as  gracious 
as  she  would  have  been  in  her  drawing-room 
with  her  rich  neighbor  Mrs.  Delano. 

"  You  see,"  said  she,  taking  up  a  delicate 
evening  silk, "  that  Miss  Amy  is  coming  home 
this  week ;  and  Mr.  Rushton  has  given  me 
carte  blanche  to  provide  whatever  is  necessary 
for  her  appearance  here.  It  is  nine  years 
last  spring  since  he  took  her  to  be  educated 
at  some  sort  of  an  old-fashioned,  out-of-the- 
way  place  in  the  country,  where  the  people 
all  at  once  took  it  into  their  heads  to  be 
religious.  He  did  not  see  fit  to  remove  her 
however;  though  I  thought  Madame  De 
Witt's  a  far  better  place  for  her,  being  an 
old  aristocratic  school.  They  do  not  pay 
much  attention  to  dress  where  she  has  been  ; 
and  I  am  determined,  that,  in  that  respect  at 
least,  she  shall  come  up  to  the  standard  of 
Cummington  Square." 

Mrs.    Rushton  paused,  perhaps   for   com- 


OK,  AMY  SUSHTON'S  MISSION.  213 

ment ;  but  the  little  seamstress's  face  was  as 
passive  as  marble.  She  had  learned  the  art 
of  concealment  here. 

"  I  sometimes  fancy,"  pursued  the  lady, 
"  that  Mr.  Rushton  thinks  it  may  be  actually 
pleasant  to  have  some  one  here  who  has 
religious  peculiarities,  like  Miss  Amy.  It 
will  be  quite  out  of  the  common  course.  He 
never  liked  her  to  be  like  any  one  else  ;  and 
a  little  spicing  of  religion  will  so  distinguish 
her  above  others  of  our  circle.  He  will  not 
let  her  be  too  religious." 

Mrs.  Rushton  paused  again ;  but  Elsie 
Bernhard's  face  was  as  far  from  revealing 
her  thoughts  as  before.  She  dared  not  trust 
herself  to  reply,  lest  something  in  her  words 
might  be  inopportune  or  unseemly.  And  so 
the  little  seamstress  was  speechless,  and  her 
fingers  flew  faster  with  her  work. 

The  lady  resumed,  "  You  may  now,  Bern- 
hard  "  (Mrs.  Rushton  never  condescended 


214  BOVNDBROOK ; 

to  affix  the  Jfm,  and  Elsie  would  have  been 
quite  too  familiar)  "  take  hold  of  this  silk, 
—  not  this  :  this  is  for  Miss  Amy,  —  this  gar 
net,  for  me ;  and  make  it  with  full  trimmings, 
for  I  am  to  go  out  to  Boundbrook  on  the 
grand  occasion  of  Miss  Amy's  return  ;  and  I 
wish  this  to  wear.  Meantime,  you  can  be 
planning  in  your  own  mind  what  shall  be 
done  with  Amy's  dresses." 

"  A  fair  woman  without  discretion,"  mur 
mured  Elsie  to  herself  as  Mrs.  Rushton  left 
the  room.  "  Miss  Amy  will  have  need  of 
her  religious  faith  here." 

The  evening  was  fair  and  warm  on  which 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rushton  rode  through  Bound- 
brook.  One  of  the  finest  of  October  sunsets 
was  drawing  on ;  soft  clouds  had  marshaled 
themselves  above  the  horizon,  and  were  shift 
ing  about  in  ever-varying  shapes  and  hues,  — 
purple  and  gold  and  crimson ;  then  crimson 
took  the  place  of  gold,  and  gold  fled  higher 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  215 

up,  to  be  again  vanquished  by  purple,  and 
at  last  by  the  more  sober  gray.  What  must 
be  the  glory  of  the  inner  sanctuary  of  the 
skies !  „ 

Mrs.  Rushton  was  in  her  best  mood.  The 
day  was  fine ;  so  was  her  carriage  ;  so,  too, 
was  her  dress.  She  was  very  talkative  ;  but 
Mr.  Rushton  seemed  unusually  silent. 

"Mr.  Rushton,"  she  exclaimed  at  length, 
"  one  would  think  you  were  not  pleased  to 
take  Amy  home." 

He  smiled,  in  that  absent  way  that  always 
puzzled  her,  and  opened  his  lips  to  speak ; 
but,  as  the  horses  just  then  turned  from  the 
main  road  into  the  one  leading  to  the  cot 
tage,  there  all  at  once  floated  into  the 
carriage  the  sound  of  a  clear,  ringing  voice. 
Mrs.  Rushton  professed  to  be  a  connoisseur 
in  music,  and  leaned  eagerly  forward  to 
catch  the  last  notes.  "  Mr.  Rushton,"  she 
exclaimed,  "  that's  an  air  from  Verdi  !  Who 
s  ocera  here  ?  " 


216  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  I  think  we  shall  see  the  singer  to-night," 
observed  Mr.  Rushton  dryly.  "  You  do  not 
recognize  the  voice." 

"Not  Amy!"  .faltered  Mrs.  Rushton. 
"  That's  no  common  voice  !  " 

«  No." 

"  Oh  !     I  thought  it  could  not  be  Amy !  " 

"  It  is  even  so." 

"  What !   religious,  and  sing  opera  ?  " 

"  Whatever  the  air  may  be,"  said  Mr. 
Rushton,  "  I  have  heard  the  words  ;  and  they 
are  like  the  words  of  any  psalm-tune  for 
purity." 

"  But,  Mr.  Rushton,  can  we  not  see  her 
now  ?  I  am  aching  with  curiosity." 

"  I  see  you  are,  Mrs.  Rushton,"  said  her 
husband  coolly.  "  But  I  will  introduce  you 
at  the  house  first,  and  come  out  and  seek  her. 
She  is  in  the  grove  probably,  aud  does  not 
see  us." 

Accordingly,  after  Mr.  Rushton  had  seen 


OR,   AMY  SUSHTON'S  MISSION.  217 

his  wife  complacently  seated  with  Mrs.  Per- 
cival,  he  took  his  way  to  the  grove.  He  had 
well-nigh  despaired  of  finding  Amy ;  when 
a  low  hum  of  voices  arrested  his  ear,  and, 
proceeding  a  few  steps  farther,  he  found  him 
self  upon  the  edge  of  a  hollow,  in  the  midst 
of  which  was  collected  a  group  of  little  girls ; 
and  among  them,  evidently  the  center  of  the 
circle,  was  Amy. 

His  presence  was  not  noticed ;  and,  leaning 
against  a  tree,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  a 
spectator  of  the  scene.  The  girls'  hands 
were  filled  with  gay  autumn  leaves  and  flow 
ers,  which  they  were  busily  twining  into  gar 
lands.  All  the  time  a  steady  flow  of  talk 
went  on,  now  playful,  now  more  earnest,  as 
Mr.  Rushton  gathered  from  the  movements, 
and  the  words  which  the  light  wind  wafted 
to  his  ear.  At  length  one  of  the  girls  arose, 
and,  approaching  Amy,  bent  beside  her, 
and  fastening  one  garland  about  her  head, 


218  BOUNDBROOK ; 

and  another,  after  the  manner  of  a  sash,  about 
her  waist,  led  her  among  the  group. 

It  seemed  as  if  they  would  never  be  satis 
fied,  nor  she.  Blushing  at  their  words  of 
childish  admiration,  and  unaffectedly  depre 
cating  their  loving  praises,  she  yet  moved 
among  them  as  one  whose  life  was  in  a 
measure  bound  up  with  theirs,  and  as  if  she 
could  not  carry  away  too  much  of  their  love 
with  her. 

"  The  sun  is  very  low,"  she  said  at  last, 
"  and  I  am  expecting  my  father  to-night. 
Dear  children,  when  I  am  in  the  great,  noisy 
city,  I  shall  think  of  you  in  your  quiet  coun 
try  homes,  and  always  with  a  prayer  for  you. 
"We  have  knelt  together  too  many  times  to 
forget  that ;  have  we  not  ?  I  shall  not  forget 
to  ask  that  Mary  may  be  less  distrustful, 
Delia  not  too  confident,  and  that  Jessie  may 
remember  that  '  he  that  ruleth  his  own  spirit 
is  better  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.'  And 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON '8  MISSION. 

for  these  little  ones,"  she  added,  "  that  they 
may  very  soon  know  Him  who  said,  '  I  love 
them  that  love  me ;  and  those  that  seek  me 
early  shall  find  me.' ' 

If  Amy's  eyes  were  moist  as  she  spoke, 
the  others  were  overflowing. 

Mr.  Rushton  noiselessly  drew  back,  and 
returned  slowly  to  the  house. 

"  Haven't  you  found  her  ? "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Rushton,  as  he  entered. 

"  She  will  be  here  presently,  I  think ;  "  and 
with  this  Mr.  Rushton  immediately  led  the 
way  to  another  subject,  giving  no  opportu 
nity  for  Mrs.  Rushton's  impatience  to  burst 
forth  again. 

Amy  presently  came  up  the  stone  steps, 
and  —  still  adorned  with  her  sylvan  garlands, 
and  with  a  quiet,  happy  light  on  her  brow, 
which  agreed  well  with  her  softly  flushed 
cheeks,  and  rather  grave  mouth  —  opened  ^he 
sitting-room  door. 


220  BOUNDBROOK; 

They  had  sat  very  still,  waiting  her  com 
ing;  and  entering  as  she  did,  unaware  of 
their  presence,  it  was  not  strange  that  the 
color  faded,  and  her  first  movement  was  an  in 
voluntary  uplifting  of  her  hand  to  her  brow. 
But  Amy  was  no  actress ;  and  the  next 
instant  her  greeting  was  given  as  unaffect 
edly  as  a  child's,  —  first  to  her  father  ;  and 
then  he  led  her  to  Mrs.  Rushton. 

The  lady  rose  up  with  a  great  rustling  of 
silk  flounces.  "  How  do  you  do,  daughter 
Amy  ?  "  she  said  in  much  the  mechanical 
tone  in  which  one  repeats  an  oft-learned  and 
rather  uninteresting  lesson. 

And  Amy  replied  very  sweetly  and  cour 
teously,  her  cheeks  meanwhile  acquiring  an 
unusual  brilliancy. 

"  You  have  a  taste  for  rural  decorations, 
have  you  not  ?  "  was  the  next  remark  ;  and 
the  lady's  eyes  ran  over  the  bright  garlands. 

Amy  looked  down  at  her  sash,  and  smiled, 
but  a  little  gravely. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON '8  MISSION.  221 

"  You  must  have  been  in  very  engrossing 
company  not  to  have  perceived  your  father 
when  he  was  out  hunting  for  you,"  continued 
Mrs.  Rushton.  "  Is  it  common  here  for 
young  people  to  entertain  each  other  in  the 
woods  ?  " 

Amy's  eyes  went  up  doubtfully  to  her 
father,  who  was  standing  beside  her. 

"I  believe  Amy  and  her  company  were 
right  in  being  best  suited  with  the  woods 
to-day,"  said  Mr.  Rushton.  "  Excuse  me  if  I 
unwittingly  became  a  witness  of  your  little 
party,  daughter :  but  I  remained  only  while 
you  were  invested  with  these  tokens ;  and  I 
think  it  was  as  pretty  a  coronation  as  I  could 
wish  to  see." 

"  A  coronation !  "  said  Mrs.  Rushton.  "  It 
isn't  May  Day." 

"  There  are  more  crowns  than  May 
brings,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  turning  away. 
"  Amy,  daughter,  we  will  excuse  you  if  you 
wish." 


222  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  There  are  more  crowns  than  May 
brings,"  repeated  Mrs.  Rushton  curiously, 
after  Amy  had  left  the  room.  "  Mr.  Rush- 
ton,"  she  inquired  the  next  moment,  "  has 
Amy  any  admirers  here  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  has,"  was  the  reply.  Mr. 
Rushton  was  sometimes  absent-minded. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  know  what  you're 
saying,"  said  Mrs.  Rushton,  divided  between 
perplexity  and  conviction.  "I  mean,  has 
Amy  any  lovers  here  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  —  I  must  say  I  believe  she 
has."  Mrs.  Rushton  was  in  no  doubt  now. 

"  Mr.  Rushton !  "  The  words  came  with 
rather  unladylike  emphasis  from  her  very 
delicate  lady-like  lips.  "  What  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it? 

"  Nothing,  Mrs.  Rushton." 

"  Nothing !  And  let  them  come  to  our 
house  in  Cummington  Square,  Mr.  Rushton  ? 
You're  beside  yourself !  Have  you  seen  any 
of  them  ?  What  are  they  ?  " 


OP,  AMT  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.          223 

"  Six  little  girls,"  said  Mr.  Rushton  qui 
etly.  "  They  love  her  devotedly,  and  shall 
come  to  see  her  if  they  like." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Mrs.  Rushton,  sinking  back, 
almost  weak  with  the  revulsion  of  feeling. 
"  How  you  did  frighten  me  !  But  are  there 
no  others?" 

"  I  believe  there  are  none  that  will  make 
us  more  trouble  than  these." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  would 
have  scared  me  so.  But  you  see,  though  I 
don't  take  any  particular  interest  in  her,  yet, 
if  she  must  be  called  our  daughter,  the  honor 
of  the  family  must  be  kept  up.  You  see, 
Mr.  Rushton  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  the  gentleman  politely. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CTJMMINGTON  SQUARE. 

R.  and  MRS.  PERCIVAL  went  home 
with  their  visitors  for  a  stay  of  a  few 
days  at  Mr.  Rushton's  city  mansion.  To 
Amy  these  were  days  long  to  be  remembered, 
set  apart  among  all  others  as  forming  a  soft 
ening  link  between  the  quiet,  unostentatious, 
but  really  refined  life  at  Boundbrook,  and  the 
fashionable  magnificence  of  Cummington 
Square. 

How  all  too  quickly  the  time  of  her  friends' 
departure  came ! 

"  Amy,  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Percival,  as 


224 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  225 

they  were  alone  for  an  hour  previous,  "  you 
will  never  forget  that  you  are  our  daughter 
too." 

The  young  girl's  answer  was  not  what  she 
might  have  expected.  Deep  love  and  grati 
tude  shone  in  the  eyes  that  were  lifted  to 
hers ;  but  the  serenity  that  usually  marked 
Amy's  face  was  not  there.  Mrs.  Percival's 
heart  almost  stood  still  at  the  passionate 
outbreak. 

"  O  Mrs.  Percival,  if  I  could  only ,  go 
back  with  you !  I  am  your  daughter.  I 
have  no  mother  here." 

The  lady  caressed  her  as  if  she  had  indeed 
been  her  mother.  "  You  have  a  dear,  loving 
father,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  a  dear  father,  only  too  loving,  but 
no  mother.  No,  she  is  not  my  mother :  she 
does  not  love  me  !  I  can  not  love  her  as  I 
ought.  It  seems  to  me  I  am  further  from  it 

15 


226  BOUNDBROOK; 

every  time  I  see  her.  Oh  !  if  iny  own  dear 
mother  died,  why  has  not  father  told  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  dear,  that  your  father 
has  done  wisely  in  withholding  from  you 
whatever  relates  to  this." 

"  Then,  do  you  know  all,  Mrs.  Pereival  ? 
How  often  it  has  been  on  my  lips  to  ask  you  ! 
But  I  always  resolved  to  wait  till  father  should 
be  ready  to  tell  me.  I  felt  it  would  not  be 
true  to  him  to  go  to  some  one  else.  And  I 
will  not  know  now.  No,  I  will  wait.  I  will 
never  let  him  see  that  I  feel  her  coldness.  I 
must,  I  will  try  again  to  love  her." 

"  Dear  Amy,"  said  Mrs.  Pereival,  "  the 
effort  to  love  will  bring  its  own  sweet  reward. 
Do  not  give  up  the  endeavor  to  win  her  love. 
In  this  we  are  to  be  like  Christ.  How  un 
lovely  must  we  appear  to  him !  Not  a  corner 
of  our  hearts  that  is  without  fault  to  his  pure 
eyes ;  yet  his  tender  love  yearns  toward  us. 
If,  while  he  suffered  on  the  cross,  he  saw, 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        227 

down  to  the  end  of  time,  the  long  line  of 
human  beings  that  were  to  be  ransomed  by 
that  sacrifice,  with  all  their  individual  peculi 
arities  and  waywardness  (as  we  can  scarcely 
doubt  he  did),  and  yet  could  so  patiently,  so 
lovingly,  endure  that  terrible  hour,  what  can 
we  say  in  excuse  for  not  loving  every  one  ? 
The  Son  of  God  could  die  for  us,  and  we 
can  not  love  even  for  his  sake  !  How  must 
we  appear  to  him,  turning  with  scorn,  or  in 
difference  even,  from  one  for  whom  he  en 
dured  his  Father's  wrath !  " 

"How,  then,  do  I  look  in  his  sight?" 
murmured  Amy.  "  O  Mrs.  Percival  I  this 
is  such  a  disappointment  to  me,  that  it  seems 
as  if  I  can  not  bear  it.  No  mother  here ! 
And  now  I  am  losing  you." 

"  Amy  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Percival, 
"  do  you  love  your  Saviour  ?  How  much 
more  may  you  know  his  love  now !  How 
much  more  closely  may  you  cling  to  him ! 


228  BOUNDBROOK; 

*  This  is  the  victory  that  overcometh  the 
world, '  Amy, '  even  our  faith,'  "  she  resumed 
presently.  "  You  are  to  be  here,  in  the  midst 
of  this  household,  a  living  example  for  the 
truth.  O  dear  child !  what  a  work  God  is 
putting  into  your  hands  here  !  " 

Calmed  by  her  earnest  words,  Amy  raised 
her  head  from  her  hands ;  and  though  sorrow 
was  uppermost  there  still,  yet  peace  was  re-  * 
turning.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  faith  must  get 
the  victory,  or  God  is  not  honored.  His 
grace  is  sufficient :  I  know  that  by  other  ex 
periences.  I  must  prove  it  here,  or,  rather, 
I  must  keep  so  near  to  him,  that  he  will  prove 
it  by  me.  It  is  his  work,  —  the  victory  that 
overcometh.  Victory  is  of  faith,  and  faith 
is  of  God.  So  '  it  is  I,  and  yet  not  I,  but 
Christ '  that  liveth  in  me." 

"  How  close  is  the  union,"  said  Mrs.  Per- 
cival,  after  some  moments'  silence,  "  between 
Christ  and  him  who  believes  !  —  so  close,  that 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  229 

•we  can  scarcely  tell  where  the  human  will  is 
lost  in  the  divine.  We  can  only  say,  '  It  is  I, 
yet  not  I,  but  Christ.'  " 

"  This  must  be  my  chief  thought,"  said 
Amy,  —  "  that  God  puts  me  here  to  work  for 
him."  She  smiled.  "  Mr.  Ellery  used  to 
talk  about  highway  and  hedge  work,  and 
draw  a  comparison  between  Christ's  servants 
going  out  to  gather  all  to  the  marriage- 
supper  of  the  Lamb,  and  the  servants  of  the 
man  who  made  the  great  earthly  feast,  and 
called  in  the  people  from  all  the  vicinity. 
They  were  compelled  to  come  in." 

"  Well,  Amy,  you  began  that  work  at 
Boundbrook :  be  sure  there  is  no  less  to 
be  done  here.  The  arrangements  are  made, 
are  they  not,  for  the  little  Spencer  girl  to 
come  here  to  you  ?  " 

"  She  will  come  as  soon  as  father  sends  for 
her,  Mrs.  Percival." 

"  Happy  child !     How  her  pale  face  will 


2,30  SOUNDS  ROOK; 

brighten  at  the  news  that  she  is  to  live  with 
you !  And  be  assured,  Amy,  I  will  endeavor 
to  carry  out  Mr.  Ellery's  commission  to 
you  in  regard  to  the  family  faithfully."  Mrs. 
Percival's  eyes  grew  soft  as  she  thought  how 
Amy  had  attended  to  their. wants  in  heat  and 
in  cold,  shrinking  from  no  hardship,  gather 
ing  the  children  about  her  when  some  per- 
verseness  or  mismanagement  kept  them  from 
school,  until  her  sweet,  cheerful  pleading 
won  them  to  go ;  taking  care  that  the  poor 
old  grandmother  should  have  her  daily  read 
ing,  and  the  hard-worked,  petulant  mother 
the  help  of  heart  or  hand,  as  either  might  be 
needed.  Mrs.  Percival  knew  more  than  this, 
but  not  from  Amy.  "  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have 
done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye 
have  done  it  unto  me,'  "  were  her  next  spok 
en  words.  "  O  dear  Amy !  in  the  midst  of 
this  luxurious  life,  do  not  forget  your  high 
mission.  You  may  be  here  a  servant  of  Christ, 


Off,  AMY  ItUSUTON'S  MISSION.  231 

as  truly  as  he  who  has  taken  upon  himself 
the  vows  of  the  ministry ;  and  '  the  Lord 
will  be  thy  keeper,  thy  shade  upon  thy  right 
hand.'  Gather  them  all  in,  dear  child." 

The  sound  of  carriage-wheels  was  heard 
below  at  the  moment ;  and,  after  that,  words 
•were  few. 

So  Amy  parted  with  her  friends,  and, 
watching  them  till  the  carriage  turned  from 
sight,  re-entered  the  house  to  take  up  her 
share  of  the  life  at  Cummington  Square. 
Life  was  it?  She  queried  with  herself 
whether  this  was  life,  or  but  a  mockery  of 
the  name.  She  went  up  and  down  the  long, 
broad  staircases,  and  through  the  wide  halls, 
visiting  every  room,  from  the  breakfast-room 
upward,  lingering  longest  in  the  library,  the 
favorite  resort  of  her  father,  and  in  which 
she  could  recall  the  pleasantest  memories  of 
her  child-life  here.  The  massive  walnut 
bookcases,  filled  with  the  choicest  volumes  of 


B 0 UXDBROOK ; 

literature  and  art  and  science ;  the  rare  pic 
tures  ;  the  marble  busts  of  dead  and  living 
heroes,  with  the  more  fanciful  statuettes  of 
Hebe  and  Psyche  and  others ;  the  harmony 
of  the  rich  colors  of  carpet  and  curtains,  — 
would  alone  have  rendered  the  place  like 
enchanted  ground ;  but  here  she  had  sat  on 
her  father's  knee  while  he  patiently  made 
clear  to  her  what  had  seemed  like  unfathom 
able  mysteries  ;  here  he  had  delighted  her 
with  history  and  with  fairy-tales,  and  poured 
into  her  never-satisfied  ear  stories  of  his  boy 
hood.  Mr.  Rushton  had  been  a  good  teach 
er  for  the  inquiring  little  mind.  Though 
he  often  was  absorbed  in  business,  his  tastes 
were  refined,  and  his  mental  acquirements 
far  above  the  ordinary.  Amy  felt  as  if  that 
had  been  in  some  degree  like  life  ;  for  then  it 
had  been  her  duty  as  well  as  pleasure  to 
receive  :  now  her  being  demanded  more  than 
that.  Indolence  formed  no  part  of  Amy's 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  233 

character,  either  by  birth  or  education.  The 
great  question  comes  up  to  her  as  she  stands 
on  the  threshold  of  her  new  life,  not  only 
"  What  am  I  to  be  here  ?  "  but  "  What  am  I 
to  do?"  She  knew  very  well  what  the  daily 
routine  of  the  household  was  at  Cummington 
Square,  —  rising  to  a  late  breakfast,  loitering 
or  reading  till  lunch,  driving  out  to  call  on 
fashionable  acquaintances,  returning  to  a 
sumptuous  dinner,  and,  in  the  evening,  at 
tending  parties,  lectures,  or  concerts.  Happi 
ly  Mr.  Rushton  was  not  a  theater-goer.  Yet 
Amy  saw  very  little  in  this  at  all  practical,  or 
that  could  conduce  to  a  real  healthy  mental 
or  physical  life.  And  again  the  question 
comes  to  her,  "  What  are  you  to  do  here  ? 
What  is  your  religious  life  to  be  here  ?  Are 
you  a  Christian,  Amy  ?  Then,  like  your 
Master,  you  must  rejoice  to  make  loving  and 
working  your  life.  He  sat  with  the  rich,  but 
he  walked  and  talked  with  the  poor  likewise ; 


234  BOUNDBROOK; 

and  in  nothing  did  lie  lower  the  dignity  of 
his  divine  character.  With  scribe  and  Phari 
see,  with  publican  and  sinner,  he  was  equally 
the  gentle,  meek,  helpful  Saviour,  and  yet 
the  '  One  who  taught  as  having  authority,' 
the  One  who  '  spake  as  never  man  spake.' ' 
As  these  thoughts  rushed  upon  the  young 
girl's  mind,  her  head  was  bowed  in  her 
hands,  and  from  her  heart  went  up  the  un 
spoken  prayer,  "  Father,  I  am  of  myself 
nothing,  thou  knowest ;  but,  if  I  am  thy 
child,  show  me  what  a  child  can  do  for  thee 
here.  So  help  me,  dear  Lord,  that  thou 
mayest  be  loved  and  glorified  where  now 
thou  art  unknown  and  unloved.  If  I  love 
thee  a  little,  help  me  to  love  thee  much, 
for  the  sake  of  Him  who  first  loved  me." 

A  bright  and  warm  October  sun  was  shin 
ing  in  at  the  east  library-window,  making  a 
golden  track  across  the  warm-hued  Persian 
carpet.  Amy  felt  as  if  she  could  almost  have 


OH,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  235 

knelt,  and  kissed  the  gay  sunbeams ;  for  she 
was  not  one  to  hug  sorrow  to  her  heart,  giv 
ing  it,  as  many  do,  a  high  place  among  her 
household  gods,  and  counting  herself  a  hero 
ine  because  of  the  sighs  and  tears  she  shed 
for  its  sake.  Deep  pain  she  might  feel,  and 
often  did ;  but  her  religious  character  was 
too  healthful  and  sunny  to  allow  her  ever  to 
be  miserable. 

Such  was  Amy  as  she  had  grown  up  under 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival's  happy  teaching ;  not 
at  all  as  her  father's  fears  had  once  pictured 
her,  —  gloomy,  long-faced,  and  whining,  but 
light-hearted,  and  with  a  face  as  fresh  and 
innocent  as  a  child's.  Amy  was  no  genius, 
yet  she  was  not  lacking  in  strength  of  mind ; 
and,  with  a  gentle  dignity  all  her  own,  she 
was  thoroughly  earnest,  sensible,  and  refined. 

She  crossed  the  room  to  a  seat  by  the  win 
dow,  and  rested  her  head  upon  the  low,  broad 
window-sill.  She  smiled  to  herself  to  feel 


236  BOUNDBROOK; 

the  warmth  upon  her  head.  It  was  like  the 
pressure  of  a  kind  hand,  soothing  and  re 
freshing  after  some  tempest  has  passed  over 
the  soul.  And  the  sunshine  was  one  of  God's 
visible  tokens,  one  of  his  gifts  of  joy.  It  was 
to  Amy  almost  as  if  God's  own  hand  had 
been  laid  on  her  head.  And  did  not  he, 
once  crowned  with  thorns,  in  reality  stand 
by  her  ?  He  who,  after  his  fiery  baptism  of 
suffering,  had  walked  and  talked  so  sweetly 
with  his  own,  —  did  not  he  walk  with  his  chil 
dren  now  ?  Oh,  then !  if  she  was  his  child, 
could  she  not,  as  it  were,  put  her  hand  in  his, 
and  be  very  glad  ?  And  when  she  felt  the 
sunshine  on  her  head,  as  she  knew  it  was  the 
shining  of  his  sun,  why  should  she  not,  even 
in  chill  and  gloom,  feel  that  he  gave  glad 
sunshine  still? 

That  was  Amy's  reasoning  ;  and  then  this 
was  Amy's  second  heart-prayer :  "  Father, 
my  life  has  been  greatly  blessed,  and  it  has 


OR,  AMY  KUSHTON'S  MISSION.  237 

been  all  from  thee.  I  know  not  the  way 
thou  wilt  lead  me  now ;  but  in  all  things  help 
me  to  feel  that  thou  art  my  Light  and  my 
Sun ;  and  may  I  be  very  glad  in  thee,  and 
very  patient ;  and  help  me  to  love  as  thou 
wouldst  have  thy  children  love,  for  the  sake 
of  Jesus  who  died,  and  in  whom  we  have  the 
promise  of  eternal  life." 

It  might  have  been  a  half-hour  that  the 
young  girl  had  sat  there,  when  Mrs.  Rushton 
entered,  and  drew  close  to  the  figure  by  the 
window.  If  Amy  had  been  dressed  in  flow 
ing  and  costly  robes,  Mrs.  Rushton  would 
possibly  have  stopped  to  contemplate  the 
scene  as  an  interesting  tableau;  but  there 
was  nothing  particularly  attractive  in  the 
fawn-colored  merino,  pretty  and  becoming 
though  it  was  with  its  blue  trimmings.  Her 
question  was  both  abrupt  and  slightly  impa 
tient,  —  "  Amy  Rushton,  what  are  you  doing 
here  ?  " 


238  BOUNDBROOK; 

Amy,  startled  from  her  deep  revery,  looked 
up,  and,  obeying  her  first  impulse,  replied 
with  the  frankness  that  always  characterized 
her,  "  Mother,  I  was  thinking  that  the  Lord 
is  here." 

"  What !  "  Mrs.  Rushton  drew  back  with 
an  awe-stricken  look ;  and  the  color  actually 
receded  from  her  face.  "  What  do  you 
mean,  girl  ?  "  said  she  sharply.  But  Amy 
was  looking  into  the  sunbeams  again,  and  did 
not  seem  to  hear  her. 

The  lady  forgot  that  she  had  come  in  to 
talk  with  Amy  about  her  dresses,  which  the 
seamstress  was  ready  to  fit.  Farther  and 
farther  she  drew  back  from  the  young  girl, 
until  she  reached  the  door,  and  with  one 
nervous  and  hurried  step  was  on  the  stair ; 
nor  did  she  breathe  freely  till  in  her  own 
room. 

"  What  has  disturbed  your  mother  so, 
Amy  ? "  said  Mr.  Rushton,  entering  a  mo- 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  239 

ment  later.  He  had  been  coming  through 
the  hall,  and  had  seen  his  wife's  hurried 
exit. 

"  I  suppose,  father,  something  I  said," 
Amy  returned  regretfully ;  "  but  I  did  not 
intend  it :  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  it 
might  disturb  her." 

«  What  was  it,  Amy  ?  " 

"  She  asked  me  what  I  was  doing,  and  1 
spoke  my  first  thought." 

» 

"  And  what  was  that,  daughter  ?  " 

"  That  I  was  thinking  that  the  Lord  was 
here,"  she  replied  with  bowed  head. 

Mr.  Rushton  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  long  room. 

"  Amy,"  said  he,  after  they  had  slowly 
accomplished  the  distance  one  way,  "you 
must  not  say  such  things  here." 

It  was  spoken  very  kindly,  even  lovingly ; 
but  Amy's  heart  stood  still.  They  had 
walked  the  length  of  the  room  again  before 


240  BOUNDBROOK; 

she  could  command  her  voice  to  speak. 
"  Father,"  she  said. 

"  What,  dear  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  sometimes  help  speaking  of 
what  I  love  best  ?  " 

"  But  you  must  help  it,  Amy." 

"But,  dear  father  "  — 

"  Don't  argue  with  me,  Amy.  I  am  con 
tent,  as  I  have  said  before,  that  you  should 
enjoy  your  religion  yourself;  but,  if  you 
attempt  to  hold  it  up  here,  I  can  not  answer 
for  consequences.  Surely  you  will  not  rigidly 
persist  in  making  us  unhappy.  Amy,  I  have 
often  defended  you  from  the  charge  of  bigot 
ry  :  will  you  make  me  retract  my  defense  ? 
Why  need  you  make  any  use  of  your  pecu 
liar  belief  and  phraseology  ?  Child,  believe 
me,  you  are  not  required  to  do  this.  It  is 
only  a  youthful  enthusiasm  that  prompts  you 
to  such  utterances,  not  the  cool  wisdom 
which  ought  to  characterize  you." 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  241 

"  Father,"  said  Amy,  "  if  I  love  the  Lord 
truly,  it  can  be  neither  the  one  nor  the  other, 
but  only  because  I  do  love  him.  And  how- 
can  I  love  him,  and  never  speak  of  him  ? 
You  would  not  have  me  so  with  you, 
father  ?  " 

"  But  it  is  quite  a  different  thing,  Amy." 

"  Not  so  different,  dear  father,  that  a  com 
parison  may  not  be  drawn  between  them." 

"  O  Amy  !  will  you  be  so  rigid  ?  I  have 
told  you  that  I  am  willing  you  should  enjoy 
your  religion  to  the  utmost  by  yourself;  but 
I  can  not  answer  for  consequences." 

"  Father,"  said  Amy  after  a  while,  most 
affectionately  and  respectfully,  "  the  Lord 
will  take  care  of  consequences." 

"  Amy,  Amy,  you  defy  me  :  you  will  hug 
these  notions  of  yours  till  they  make  you 
morbid,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Rushton.  But  he 
recalled  the  word  "  morbid  "  the  next  instant 

16 


242  BOUNDBROOK; 

in  his  thought.     He  knew  Amy  c  mid  never 
be  that. 

"  What  you  call  my  notions  are  God's 
truths,  I  believe,  dear  father." 

"  We  will  not  continue  the  discussion 
further  now,  daughter.  Only,  Amy,  let  me 
repeat,  if  you  would  not  sow  thorns  in  your 
path  here,  you  must  give  up  some  of  this 
rigid  adherence  to  your  peculiar  faith.  I 
say  it  for  your  happiness,  daughter." 

For  the  first  time  for  years,  Amy's  hands 
went  up  to  her  face  to  hide  the  pain  she 
felt.  It  was  the  old,  involuntary  motion  of 
her  childhood ;  and  Mr.  Rushton  as  involun 
tarily  drew  them  away.  "  Amy,  dear  child, 
we  will  talk  no  more.  But  you  belong  to  me 
now:  there  shall  be  no  more  teaching  of 
these  doctrines  to  come  between  us.  Here 
you  are  all  mine !  "  He  released  her  as  he 
spoke.  There  was  a  sort  of  triumph  in  his 
voice. 


OP,  AMY  RUSHTON'b   MISSION. 


243 


"  Father,"  said  Amy,  though  her  lips  were 
trembling,  "  I  belong  to  Christ  before  you." 
And  she  passed  from  the  room,  leaving  him 
perplexed  and  baffled. 

O  Mr.  Rushton  !  is  not  your  Amy  slipping 
away  from  you  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ROBERT   AND   ELSIE. 

BERNHARD,  Mrs. 
seamstress,  went  home  from  her  work 
r'(^-l>  one  evening  rather  later  than  usual. 
It  was  snowing  fast.  She  was  weary,  and  the 
bundle  she  carried  weighed  heavily  on  her 
strength.  Very  often,  in  her  efforts  to  with 
stand  the  gusty  and  piercing  wind,  she  was 
obliged  to  stop  for  breath.  She  wondered 
that  Robert  did  not  come  out,  as  he  often  did 
of  a  stormy  night,  to  help  her  home.  It  was 
so  much  later  than  usual  too.  She  plunged 
on  through  the  blinding  storm,  and  at  last 
reached  a  respectable  but  rather  poor-look- 

244 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  245 

ing  wooden  tenement,  several  squares  from 
Mr.  Rushton's  residence.  Entering,  she 
struck  a  light,  and  with  some  concern  looked 
about  the  room,  as  if  she  had  expected  to 
find  some  one  there.  She  went  to  the  stair 
way,  and  called,  "  Robert !  "  There  was  no 
reply.  Then,  with  trouble  gathering  in  her 
face,  she  went  up,  shielding  the  light  care 
fully  with  her  hand,  and  calling,  "  Robert !  " 
all  the  way.  But  there  was  no  Robert  there ; 
and  she  presently  came  down  again. 

It  was  a  neat,  cheerful  little  room  below, 
where  she  at  last  deposited  her  lamp,  and  set 
herself  to  the  business  of  making  a  fire. 
The  walls  were  prettily  papered  ;  clean  nan 
keen  curtains  shaded  the  windows ;  the  chairs 
and  table,  and  hanging  book-case,  were  all 
of  plain,  but  neat  and  substantial  style,  and 
tastefully  arranged.  A  few  small  engravings 
in  home-made  frames  were  disposed  against 
the  walls ;  and  on  the  shelf  stood  a  clock,  and 


246  POVNDBKOOK; 

a  delicate  vase  filled  with  dried  grasses  and 
gay  autumn  leaves. 

Elsie  kindled  the  fire,  and,  having  spread 
the  small  round  table  with  inviting  food,  took 
her  work,  and  endeavored  to  busy  her  fingers. 
Doubtless  her  thoughts  were  quite  as  active  ; 
for  ever  and  anon  her  eyes  went  up  to  the 
clock  on  the  mantel  with  a  deepening  shade 
of  concern ;  and  sometimes  her  fingers  were 
still  altogether,  and  her  head  inclined  forward 
to  catch  the  sound  of  a  footstep  outside. 
Eight  o'clock,  nine,  and  ten  had  all  been  told 
off  by  the  regular  strokes  of  the  little  moni 
tor  on  the  mantel  before  a  sound  was  heard. 
It  was  nearing  eleven,  when  at  last  the  well- 
known  step  sounded  in  the  hall,  and  a  little 
deformed  figure,  with  a  strangely  homely 
but  genial  face,  entered  the  room. 

"  Robert,  my  brother,"  exclaimed  Elsie, 
springing  up  to  assist  him  to  take  off  his  wet 
garments,  "  why  are  you  so  late  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  247 

The  dwarf  made  no  definite  answer  imme 
diately,  but,  when  he  was  comfortably  seated 
by  the  fire,  told  Elsie  to  lay  by  her  work  and 
he  would  tell  her.  Woman  though  she  was, 
her  curiosity  was  not  strong  enough  to  let 
him  enter  into  a  story  she  foresaw  might  be 
long,  without  the  supper  he  needed  first. 
She  pressed  upon  him  the  tea  she  had  made 
ready  for  him,  and  tempted  him  with  nice 
bread  and  pie.  Evidently  his  appetite  was 
not  keen  ;  but  he  ate  to  satisfy  her,  and  then 
commenced  his  story. 

"  Sister  Elsie,"  he  said,  dropping  his  voice 
to  a  low  tone,  "  I  have  found  Gilbert  Mar 
vin." 

Elsie  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise 
and  joy,  and  bent  forward  in  eager  attitude. 

"  I  should  not  say  that  I  have  really  found 
him ;  but  I  have  been  close  by  the  very  place 
where  he  sits  to-night ;  and  I  have  the  clew 
to  the  place  he  calls  home.  Elsie,  where  do 
you  suppose  he  is  passing  the  hours  now  ?  " 


248  BOUNDBROOK ; 

She  dreaded  to  hear,  but  asked,  "  Where  ?  " 

The  dwarfs  voice  fell  to  a  whisper,  —  "  In 
a  company  of  gamblers." 

"  O  Robert !  " 

"  I  have  always  feared  just  that  for  him," 
said  Robert.  "  So  restless,  so  easily  lifted  up 
and  cast  down,  no  regulating  stability  of 
character  about  him  :  it  was  just  the  net  to 
insnare  him,  —  the  fluctuating,  vagrant  life 
of  a  gambler." 

Elsie  weighed  the  matter  in  silence  a  few 
minutes,  and  then,  with  her  usual  prompt 
decision,  inquired,  "  How  are  you  to  reach 
him,  Robert  ?  " 

"  That's  just  the  question  I  can  not  answer, 
Elsie,  and  I  want  your  woman's  wit  to  help 
me." 

"  Some  years  ago,"  he  resumed  presently, 
"I  renewed  his  acquaintance  oddly.  It 
was  the  only  way  I  could  have  made  him 
listen  to  me.  I  excited  his  curiosity,  and 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  249 

stimulated  him  to  think  of  some  things  that 
had  never  before  occurred  to  him.  But  it 
did  not  last  long.  He  soon  wearied  of  his 
life  at  home,  and  —  you  know  how  it  was  — 
he  no  longer  came  to  the  wharves.  Until 
to-night  I  have  never  been  able  to  obtain 
the  least  knowledge  of  him  directly.  Occa 
sionally,  of  late  years,  some  indefinite  rumor 
has  reached  me ;  but  I  have  always  failed  to 
trace  him  out." 

"  You  saw  the  old  people  last  week,  did 
you  not  ?  "  asked  Elsie. 

"  Yes :  they  go  on  just  the  same,  —  he 
trembling  and  imbecile,  she  moody  and  ill- 
tempered  to  everybody  but  him.  I  am  not 
sure  but  it  was  a  good  thing  for  them  that 
Gilbert  went  away.  Otherwise  Mrs.  Marvin 
would  never  have  roused  herself  to  do  the 
first  thing  for  their  support." 

"  Does  she  manage  to  pay  their  rent  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  help,  and  buy  what  little  food 


250  BOUNDBROOK; 

they  eat,  except  what  is  sometimes  given 
them."  Elsie  knew  well  where  the  help 
came  from. 

"  They  know  that  you  know  Gilbert  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  had  reasons  for  his  not  know 
ing,  at  first,  that  I  knew  them." 

"  That  is  well :  now,  if  you  can  reach  him, 
and  persuade  him  to  see  them,  and  relieve 
their  minds  about  him." 

"  O  Elsie  !  "  said  her  brother,  "  you  have 
so  much  faith  !  Reach  him  we  may  possibly  ; 
but  to  persuade  him  ever  to  see  them  again 
is  hardly  to  be  expected.  Only  that  I  think 
his  absence  troubles  them,  I  should  scarcely 
desire  it." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  he  has  ascertained 
their  real  relationship  to  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  more  than  likely.  How  easily  I 
might  have  enlightened  him  on  that  point 
once  !  But  I  did  not  feel  that  the  time  had 
quite  come  for  such  a  revelation." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  251 

"  It  might  have  been  better  so,"  said  Elsie, 
musing. 

"  Perhaps.  Human  wisdom  is  not  infal 
lible.  He  probably  came  to  the  knowledge 
in  such  a  way,  or  at  such  a  time,  that  it  did 
him  harm,  or,  at  least,  not  the  good  that  it 
might  have  done  had  it  come  to  him  from 
friendly,  judicious  lips.  I  was  waiting  till 
his  mind  should  have  become  somewhat  more 
mature  and  stable,  and  then  should  have 
given  him  a  part  of  the  truth." 

"It  seems  almost  strange,"  said  Elsie, 
"  that  you  should  have  fallen  in  with  the 
family  here,  and  that  they  should  have  made 
you  acquainted  with  so  much  of  their  wrong 
doing.  And  I  almost  wonder  —  except  for 
Gilbert's  sake  — that  you  take  such  an  inter 
est  in  them  as  you  do.  They  are  not  inter 
esting  at  all." 

"  No,"  replied*Robert,  "  I  can  not  say  they 
are.  Aside  from  my  long  knowledge  of  their 


252  BOUNDBROOK; 

life,  so  miserably  misspent,  there  is  not 
much  about  them  to  engage  my  sympathy. 
They  are  two  poor,  shattered  wrecks,  shift 
less  and  untidy,  and  not  over  good ;  though 
he,  I  think,  is  hardly  accountable  for  any 
thing  now,  his  mind  is  in  such  a  wandering, 
vacant  state.  I  sometimes  think  the  memory 
of  his  injustice  to  Gilbert  comes  over  him. 
He  talks  incoherently  of  his  brother,  and  of 
a  little  boy  sent  to  him  to  bring  up  ;  some 
times  of  a  little  girl.  Oh,  how  shamefully 
have  the  body  and  the  intellect  which  God 
gave  that  man  been  abused  !  " 

Elsie  had  let  her  work  fall  listlessly  in  her 
lap,  and  was  listening  to  her  brother  with 
the  utmost  attention.  "  I  am  so  glad,  Rob 
ert,"  she  said  as  he  paused,  "  that  you  are 
able  to  go  round  among  those  poorer  than 
we  !  If  you  but  had  money,  what  would  you 
not  do  ?  "  * 

Robeit  shook  his  head.     "  It  is  better  as  it 


Off,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  253 

is,  Elsie.  If  it  had  been  well  for  me  to  have 
money,  I  should  have  it.  If  I  had  it,  I 
should  perhaps  be  content  with  relieving 
mere  bodily  wants,  and  letting  the  wants  of 
the  spirit  go.  To  each  his  appointed  work  is 
given,  —  to  one  the  gift  of  wealth,  to  another 
of  learning,  but  to  me  only  the  opportunity 
of  sympathizing  with  my  degraded  brother 
hood.  Men  call  me  a  poor,  unfortunate  little 
fellow :  they  do  not  know  that  I  feel  very 
fortunate  and  rich.  I  often  think  this  mis 
fortune  was  sent  upon  me,  Elsie,  that  I  might 
have  something  in  common  with  those  I 
would  help.  They  do  not  repel  me,  because 
they  see  that  I,  too,  have  suffered,  and  am 
poor.  In  personal  attractions  they  can  not 
rank  me  above  themselves  ;  and  so  "  — 

"  O  Robert !  "  exclaimed  Elsie,  "  do  not 
talk  so  ! " 

"  But  dear  sister,"  said  Robert,  a  smile 
lighting  up  his  homely  features,  "  you  can 


254  BOUNDBROOK. 

feel,  as  well  as  I,  that  this  is  all  right.  Why 
should  I  never  speak  of  it  ?  But  for  this 
misfortune  of  mine,  if  we  can  call  it  such, 
you  would  not  be  obliged  to  toil  as  you  do, 
I  know.  But  have  we  not  faith  enough  in 
our  Father's  love  to  believe  that  he  is  pre 
paring,  yes,  and  does  give  us  every  step  of 
the  way,  a  blessing  through  it  all  ?  And 
when  I  think  —  but  for  this  —  into  what  my 
ambition  might  have  led  me,  I  thank  God  from 
my  heart  that  he  gave  me  just  such  a  poor, 
weak,  distorted  body.  And  then  you  know, 
too,  Elsie,"  he  added  presently,  "  that,  but 
for  this,  I  should  not  have  felt  so  deep  an 
interest  in  Gilbert  Marvin  as  I  do." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Elsie  gratefully.  "  And  we 
have  forgotten  that  we  are  to  try  to  reach 
him." 

"  We  will  think  of  it  to-night,"  said  Rob 
ert,  "  and  then  try  to  act  wisely.  It  is  a  case 
that  requires  judgment  and  caution." 


CHAPTER  XX. 


GILBERT   AT  STOCKWELL. 

|E  now  go  back  over  a  few  years,  to  the 
time  when  Gilbert  left  Amy  Rushton 
2  at  the  turn  of  the  road  leading  beyond 

j 

the  gray  stone  cottage,  taking  up  again  his 
journey  towards  the  town  he  remembered  as 
the  home  of  his  early  childhood. 

It  was  in  a  spirit  of  boyish  curiosity 
chiefly,  that  he  set  himself,  when  at  last  he 
had  reached  the  town  of  Stockwell,  to  hunt 
out  the  persons  who  might  perhaps  be  able 
to  give  him  some  definite  information  upon 
the  subject  of  his  parentage.  For  a  long 
time  he  failed ;  yet,  with  each  failure,  the 

255 


256  BOUNDBROOK; 

conviction  grew  upon  him  that  he  was  no  son 
of  the  so-called  parents  he  had  left  in  the 
city.  Why  was  it?  He  could  not  recall 
any  distinct  memory  of  a  time  when  he  had 
not  called  them  father  and  mother,  —  nothing 
distinct  at  all.  But  as  he  walked  by  the  old 
house  where  he  had  once  lived,  and  stretched 
himself  to  rest  under  the  shade  of  the  alders 
that  grew  by  the  brook,  and  recalled  the 
ragged  little  playmates  who  had  with  him 
cast  their  rude  fish-lines  into  the  water, 
there  flashed  over  him  a  dim,  intangible 
memory  of  something  he  could  not  fairly 
grasp.  And  when  he  remembered  how,  in 
these  stolen  moments  of  sport,  the  shrill 
voice  of  Mrs.  Marvin  would  ring  out  after 
him,  and  he  sprang  away  in  mortal  fear  of  a 
whipping,  did  there  not  come  with  this 
memory  the  faintest  recollection  of  some  sort 
of  a  life  before  that,  —  of  a  long,  dreary  ride 
across  the  country,  when  these  persons  were 


OR,  AMT  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        257 

not  with  him  ?  But  he  could  not  recall  any 
time  when  they  commenced  to  be  with  him. 
Between  the  ride  and  the  daily  living  with 
them,  the  hard  work  imposed  upon  him,  the 
severe  whippings  he  received  if  he  failed  in 
his  work,  Mr.  Marvin's  days  of  intoxication, 
Mrs.  Marvin's  continual  indolence,  all  of 
which  at  last  came  to  be  matters  of  course 
with  the  boy,  —  between  the  ride  and  that 
all  was  blank.  And  the  memory  of  that 
ride  had  never  come  to  him  until  now. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Flats,  as  that  part 
of  Stockwell  where  he  had  lived  had  always 
been  called,  he  found  scarcely  any  advance 
in  population  since  he  had  played  there  years 
ago.  There  had  been  but  two  houses  there 
then  besides  the  one  his  parents  occupied ; 
and  these  were  the  only  ones  that  stood  there 
now.  Their  inmates  were  not  the  same,  for 
the  poor  are  migratory  usually ;  and  no  one 

knew   any  thing   of    the   Marvins.     Gilbert 
IT 


258  BOUNDBROOK ', 

lingered  about  the  old  house  a  while ;  and 
then  it  was  that  more  vague  memories  of 
something  away  back  of  his  life  then  came 
to  him. 

He  could  not  satisfy  himself,  and,  leaving 
the  Flats,  went  up  into  the  village  street, 
and  strolled  about  the  place  a  day  or  so ;  not 
caring  to  stay,  neither  willing  to  go  without 
the  information  he  craved.  And  it  came  to 
him  on  this  wise. 

It  was  nearly  dark  ;  and  he  was  consider 
ing  within  himself  what  he  was  to  do  for  a 
night's  lodging,  when  an  empty  team  came 
along  the  road,  and  drew  up  to  a  wa 
tering-trough  near  him.  Gilbert,  with  his 
usual  reckless  inquisitiveness,  inquired  where 
it  was  bound. 

"  Going  to  Denver,"  said  the  driver. 
"  Want  a  ride  ?  " 

"  How  far  is  it  ?  "  said  Gilbert. 

"  Oh !  three  or  four  miles.  Jump  in  if 
you're  going  there  !  " 


07?,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  259 

"  I  don't  care  where  I  go,"  said  Gilbert, 
climbing  up  to  the  offered  seat. 

The  horses  drank ;  the  driver  snapped  his 
whip  ;  and  they  were  off. 

"  Why  don't  you  care  where  you  go  ?  " 
said  the  driver,  interrogating  Gilbert. 

"  'Cause  I  don't,"  was  the  rather  dogged 
reply.  "  Nobody  else  cares,  and  I  don't  know 
as  I  need  to." 

"  Fiddlesticks ! "  said  his  companion. 
"  You'll  be  all  over  that  in  the  morning." 

"  No,  I  sha'n't,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  Oh !  then  you're  bound  you  won't ;  and, 
if  you  won't,  you  won't,  that's  all." 

"  Do  you  know  people  round  here  ?  "  said 
Gilbert  presently. 

"  Reckon  I  do.  I  haven't  driven  this  team 
all  these  years  for  nothing." 

"  Then,  maybe  you  know  something  about 
the  Marvins  that  used  to  live  on  the  Flats  ?  " 

The  driver  faced  round  upon  him.  "  Are 
vou  one  of  'em  ?  " 


260  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Why,  were  there  many  ?  "  said  Gilbert, 
evading  an  answer. 

"  No  :  only  Jacob  Marvin  and  his  wife  lived 
in  Stockwell  —  and  a  boy." 

"  Tlieir  boy  ? "  said  Gilbert,  with  heart 
beating  very  fast. 

"  Are  you  the  boy  ?  "  said  the  driver,  with 
another  inquisitive  look  at  him.  "  I  declare 
you  look  as  if  you  might  be ! " 

"Am  I  their  boy?"  said  Gilbert  vehe 
mently. 

"  No ! " 

"  You  know  sure  ?  " 

"  Know  ?  —  don't  I  know  ?  Do  you  think 
I've  driven  years  through  these  towns  for 
nothing  ?  Jacob  Marvin  was  your  uncle,  boy, 
—  your  father's  brother  ;  and  ought  to  have 
been  a  good  deal  better  man  than  he  was." 

"  Is  my  father  alive,  or  my  mother  ?  " 

"  No :  they  died  some  years  ago." 

"  How  came  I  to  be  with  my  uncle  ?  "  said 
Gilbert. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  261 

"  Your  father  was  dreadfully  hurt  once  ; 
and  it  was  thought  he  could  not  live  long. 
He  was  poor  enough  at  the  first ;  but  the  hurt 
laid  him  up  so  long  that  he  had  to  be  helped 
by  the  town.  You  were  a  little  bit  of  a  chap, 
round  in  everybody's  way ;  and,  very  natu 
rally,  they  wanted  to  get  rid  of  you —  if  they 
could.  Your  mother  (they  said  she  was  a 
pretty,  sweet-spoken  little  woman)  fought 
against  it  as  long  as  she  could :  but  all  the 
other  heads  together  were  too  much  for  her ; 
and  at  last  she  gave  up  that  you  might  go  to 
your  uncle's.  Your  uncle  was  thought  to  be 
a  pretty  smart,  well-to-do  man  then.  I  rather 
guess  he  was,"  concluded  Gilbert's  informant 
meditatively. 

"  Well,  what  else  ?  "  said  Gilbert,  getting 
impatient  for  the  rest  of  the  story. 

"  Why,  you  were  sent  off;  and  your  father 
lingered  a  long  while  between  life  and  death, 
and  then,  to  the  wonder  of  everybody, .began 
to  get  up  again :  but  he  was  lamed  for  life." 


262  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  But  why  was  I  left  at  my  uncle's  ?  "  de 
manded  Gilbert. 

"  Why,  boy  ?  When  people  ain't  worth  a 
stiver,  what  can  they  do  ?  Here  your  own 
father  was  living  miles  off  o'  here  in  a  poor 
parish,  and  }'-ou  away  in  Stockwell ;  no  stages 
nor  no  thin'  goin'  between  the  towns.  Once 
in  a  while  your  uncle  or  his  wife  —  I  dunno 
which  did  the  most  of  the  lyin'  —  would 
send  word  that  they  were  doin'  well  by  you  : 
and  your  father  got  quite  resigned  like  to 
it ;  but  your  mother  didn't.  Poor  woman ! 
What  could  she  do,  living  from  hand  to 
mouth  ?  " 

"  But  didn't  anybody  know  how  things 
were  going  ?  " 

The  driver  laughed  a  dry,  short  laugh. 
"  What  if  anybody  did,  boy  !  What  do  you 
s'pose  anybody  cared  ?  I  tell  ye,  some  o' 
these  folks  as  is  allers  looking  right  over 
the  heads  and  the  wants  o'  the  poor'll  have 


07?,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  263 

a  pretty  stiff  reckoning  to  meet  one  o'  these 
days.  I  don't  know  how  much  anybod}'-  did 
kna  \v  about  it,  though,  'cause  I  didn't  live 
there  ;  but  I've  heard,  that,  when  your  father 
died  (that  was  some  years  after),  your  mother 
took  her  little  girl  (two  years  old  or  so), 
and  started  off  on  foot  to  find  you.  It  was  a 
hard  pull ;  for  she  wasn't  over  strong,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  give  her  a  lift,  and  —  well, 
she  was  a'most  broken-hearted,  and  so  deli 
cate  too,  and  all  together  it  took  her  right 
down;  and,  before  she  got  there  (so  I've 
heard),  she  just  lay  down  and  died  at  a 
farmhouse.  The  folks  found  out  where  she 
was  a-going,  and  sent  the  child  on  to  your 
Uncle  Jacob."  • 

"  Is  that  all  you  know  ?  "  said  Gilbert. 

"  All !  Well,  I  should  think  it  was  a  good 
deal,  my  lad, — for  me  too;  for  I'm  not 
reckoned  over  ready  to  catch  at  a  tale,  nor 
tell  it  eitfier." 


264  BOUNDBROOK ; 

"  And  you  don't  know  any  more  about  the 
little  girl,  my  sister  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing.  Your  uncle  was  just  going 
off  to  the  city  then." 

Gilbert  mused  on  this  strange  history  in 
silence.  It  seemed  to  give  him  some  sort  of 
a  place  in  the  world ;  and,  unsatisfying  as  that 
place  was,  he  felt  more  a  man  while  he 
thought  upon  it.  He  was  not  surprised  by 
these  revelations :  on  the  contrary,  he  accepted 
them  with  perfect  coolness,  and  weighed  this 
and  that  fact  with  as  little  agitation  as  if  it 
had  always  been  an  every-day  subject  of  con 
versation. 

"  Well,"  said  the  driver,  turning  round  to 
him  after  a  while,  "you  have  not  told  me 
how  you  came  to  be  at  Stockwell  again  ?  " 

Thereupon  Gilbert  —  in  a  rather  business 
like  way,  caught  from  the  traders  and  mer 
chants  at  the  wharves,  and  interlarding 
his  account  with  a  variety  of  slang  phrases 


OR,  AM7  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  265 

current  among  the  ragged  boys  of  his  ac 
quaintance  —  told  his  story,  winding  up  with 
the  assertion,  uttered  somewhat  grandilo 
quently,  that  he  had  never  supposed  Jacob 
Marvin  was  his  father. 

The  man  looked  at  him  rather  whimsically. 
"  He  was  a  smart,  shrewd  man  once,  boy." 

Then  he  lighted  his  pipe ;  and,  while  he  in 
dulged  in  a  long  smoke,  Gilbert  considered 
what  step  he  should  take  next.  At  first  he 
thought  strongly  of  going  back  to  his  uncle, 
and  demanding  to  know  where  his  sister  was. 
But  then  he  reflected,  and  not  without 
reason,  that,  since  they  had  concealed  the  fact 
of  her  existence  from  him,  they  would  be 
unwilling  to  give  any  information  in  regard 
to  her,  if  indeed  they  could ;  which  was  quite 
unlikely.  Besides,  he  never  wanted  to  see 
them  again. 

That  night  he  remained  with  his  new 
friend,  and  was  offered  his  board  and  clothes 


266  BOUNDBROOK. 

to  remain  and  work  for  him  through  the 
summer.  But  this  Gilbert  refused.  He 
knew  he  should  not  like  farm-work,  and 
added,  rather  loftily,  that  he  would  try  for 
something  better. 

"  He  is  Jacob  Marvin's  own  nephew  sure," 
said  the  kind-hearted  man  to  his  wife,  to 
whom  he  had  repeated  Gilbert's  words. 
"I'm  mistaken  if  he  does  not  get  into  a  worse 
place  before  he  does  a  better.  That  was 
Jacob's  ruin  ;  always  thought  he  wasn't  in  a 
place  half  good  enough  for  him ;  spending 
enough  for  two  men,  and  then  going  down 
discouraged.  Quick  and  shrewd  as  he  was 
once,  just  as  soon  as  he  got  hold  of  liquor, 
he  couldn't  hold  out  at  all.  Well,  that's 
the  way  o'  the  world.  Strange  some  folks 
never  know  when  they're  well  off !  " 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

GLIMPSES. 

f" 

GILBERT  looked  upon  himself  now  as 
having  commenced  his  career.  He 
was  a  boy  of  considerable  mental  ac 
tivity  ;  and,  notwithstanding  his  utter  igno 
rance  in  many  respects,  he  easily  grasped 
new  ideas,  and  was  not  slow  to  make  practi 
cal  application  of  them.  His  life  at  the 
wharves  had  given  him  a  certain  business 
like  air,  which,  combined  with  a  native  dignity 
inherited  from  his  gentle  mother,  was  not 
unpleasing,  and  was  well  calculated  to  help 
him  win  his  way  in  the  world.  Robert  Bern- 
hard  had  so  far  helped  him,  that  he  could 

267 


268  BOUNDBROOK ; 

master  ordinary  reading,  and  far  more  in  the 
broad  and  wise  ideas  he  had  given  him.  of 
men  and  things. 

After  Gilbert  left  his  last  companion,  he 
went  to  the  place  where  his  father  and 
mother  had  lived,  and  found  what  had 
already  been  told  him  fully  corroborated. 

And  now  we  should  be  glad  to  give  his 
course  more  in  detail,  but  must  be  contented 
with  a  few  passing  glimpses. 

Scene  First.  —  A  year  has  passed.  During 
this  time  Gilbert  has  been  errand-boy  in  a 
store,  and  by  observation  is  learning  the 
ways  of  the  world  very  fast.  He  stands  now 
at  the  open  door  of  one  of  the  best-looking 
houses  in  the  place,  a  full  half-head  taller 
than  when  we  saw  him,  clad  in  a  neat  work 
ing-suit,  with  his  cap  in  hand,  and  a  little 
money  in  his  pocket. 

"  Good-by,"  he  is  saying  hesitatingly  ;  for 
he  feels  his  position  is  rather  awkward. 


OR,   AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  269 

Going  from  this  good  home  for  no  good  rea 
son,  no  wonder ! 

"  Gilbert,"  says  a  chubby-faced  little  girl, 
inserting  herself  between  her  mother  and  the 
boy,  "  maybe  you  won't  have  anybody  to 
show  you  about  the  reading  and  the  sums." 

"  Oh !  "  says  Gilbert,  a  little  offended,  "  do 
you  think,  Fan,  I  can't  go  on  with  that  by 
myself  ?  "  The  child  drew  back,  her  little 
arguments  quite  annihilated. 

"  Good-by,"  says  Gilbert  again. 

"  Good-by,  Gilbert,"  returns  the  lady  in 
the  doorway.  "  I  hope  you  will  find  a  good 
place,  and  come  back  to  see  us  again.  Or 
perhaps  you  have  learned  so  fast  that  you 
can  write  easily." 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am !  I  can  write ;  "  and  he 
moves  down  the  street. 

"  Mother,"  says  the  little  girl,  re-entering 
the  house  with  her  mother,  "  he  can't  write,  — 
not  so  well  as  I  can ;  and  I  couldn't  write  a 


270  BOUNDBROOK; 

letter.  Frank  Martin  told  me  he  used  to  go 
off  with  the  naughty  boys,  instead  of  going 
to  the  writing-school,  half  the  time." 

"  Hush,  my  child,"  says  the  mother. 
"  Frank  Martin  may  not  know  this  cer 
tainly."  But  she  heaves  a  sigh  over  her 
work.  She  had  learned  to  love  and  pity 
Gilbert. 

Scene  Second.  —  Three  years  later. 

A  store  likewise.  Gilbert  is  partial  to 
stores.  It  is  nine  o'clock  in  the  •  evening. 
The  proprietor  has  gone  home,  and  the  two 
clerks  are  busy  putting  up  the  shutters. 

"  I  say,  Marvin,"  says  his  companion, 
"  let's  have  a  game  before  we  go,  and  stake 
something." 

"  No,"  says  Gilbert ;  but  it  was  not  a 
firm,  clear,  hearty  "  no." 

"  No  !  "  says  the  other  in  surprise,  as  if  he 
was  not  accustomed  to  a  refusal.  "  I'll  lay 
a  wager  Ben  Harvey  has  been  preaching  to 
you." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  271 

Gilbert  winces. 

"  I  know  what  lie  said  just  as  well  as  if 
I'd  been  there,"  says  the  other.  "  Alway* 
telling  me  I  shall  get  so  I  can't  stop  any 
time,  just  as  if  I  was  a  baby,  and  didn't  know 
my  own  mind !  Now,  Gilbert  Marvin,  if  you 
want  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  do  you  go 
over  to  his  doctrine.  Can't  stop  I  —  I  can  stop 
any  time  I  want  to." 

"  So  can  I,"  says  Gilbert,  straightening  up. 
"  He's  a  fool  that  can't !  I  can  go  just  so 
far,  and  no  farther.  I  ain't  tied  to  it,  and 
never  shall  be." 

"  That's  a  man  !  "  says  the  other.  "  Good 
for  you,  Gilbert.  Come,  show  the  tin.  We 
don't  keep  our  gains,  you  know ;  just  try  it 
for  the  fun  o'  the  thing.  Ben  Harvey  is  a 
regular  goose.  Can't  stop,  indeed!  If  I 
couldn't  trust  myself  any  better  than  that, 
I'd  give  up,  and  go  to  the  asylum  for 
imbeciles ! " 


272  BOUNDBROOK; 

Gilbert  laughs.  "  I  can  stop  right  off  now 
if  I  want  to,"  says  he,  and  laughs  again, 
more  loudly. 

*'  Why  don't  you  ?  "  says  something  with 
in.  Ah,  why  don't  he  ?  That  was  just  the 
way  he  began  simple  card-playing.  No  harm 
in  the  cards,  not  in  the  least ;  no  harm  in 
the  playing,  either,  only  that  it  created  an 
unwholesome  excitement,  and  a  feverish 
appetite  for  more.  That  was  all ;  but  that 
was,  alas,  too  much !  It  was  more  than 
Gilbert  could  contend  against ;  and  stronger 
minds  than  his  have  yielded  to  just  the  same 
passion.  They  said  they  could  stop  when 
they  chose ;  but  they  never  chose,  because 
the  habit  was  stronger  than  they  were.  They 
might  as  well  have  thought  they  could  con 
tend  single-handed  with  an  armed  man. 

Besides,  it  brought  Gilbert  into  company 
that  was  not  good  for  him.  In  his  inmost 
heart  he  respected  Benjamin  Harvey  above 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  273 

anybody  he  knew,  and  had  often  spent  an 
evening  with  him  in  rational,  healthy  amuse 
ment.  Then  another  sort  of  pleasure  was 
presented  to  him ;  and  for  a  long  time  he 
vacillated  between  his  friend  Harvey  and  his 
brother-clerk,  and  at  last  went  over  to  the 
latter ;  though  he  still  inwardly  gave  Harvey 
the  first  place  in  his  esteem,  and  looked  back 
upon  the  hours  spent  in  his  genial,  interesting 
society  as  the  pleasantest  ones  he  had  ever 
known.  And  still  he  thinks  he  will  stop 
this  foolish  card-playing,  and  spend  his  even 
ings  as  he  used  to  with  Ben.  He  never  came 
from  there  without  something  new  to  think 
of.  Benjamin  had  taught  him  to  write  well 
also.  He  used  to  be  up  bright  and  early  in 
the  morning,  and  cheerful.  Now  his  head 
and  his  eyes  are  heavy :  he  does  not  like  to 
rise ;  and  he  feels  cross  and  confused.  He 
knows  it ;  and  he  knows  the  reason  of  it. 
Why  don't  he  stop  ?  Ah,  why  don't  he  ? 

18 


274  BOUNDBROOK; 

Now  he  and  his  brother-clerk  are  beginning 
to  stake  something  for  fun.  Why  don't  Gil 
bert  stop  now?  He  says  he  can;  but  his 
very  next  act  is  to  give  the  lie  to  his  words. 

Scene  Third.  —  Two  years  later. 

A  town  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  almost 
a  city  itself  for  thrift  and  population.  Here 
we  find  Gilbert.  It  would  be  difficult  to  tell 
what  that  is  which  he  calls  his  business :  it 
is  one  thing  one  week,  and  something  else 
the  next. 

At  this  present  time  he  sits  in  his  own 
room,  —  a  small  chamber  in  a  second-rate 
boarding-house,  furnished  ordinarily,  but 
with  here  and  there  some  little  article  for 
ornament  or  convenience,  which  shows  that 
its  occupant  is  somewhat  choice  in  his 
tastes,  and  will  gratify  them  so  far  as  he  is 
able. 

He  is  alone,  and  meditating.  A  few  hours 
ago,  walking  along  the  street,  he  caught,  as 


OR,  AMY  XUSHTON'S  MISSION.        275 

a  gay  sleigh  passed,  a  glimpse  of  a  familiar 
face,  —  the  face  of  a  man  rather  past  the  mid 
dle  age  ;  a  thoughtful,  business-like  face,  fur 
rowed  somewhat,  but  pleasant,  and  just  now 
smiling.  Gilbert  recognized  Mr.  Rushton. 

But  the  gentleman  did  not  see  him  ;  and 
the  young  man  goes  up  to  his  room,  thinking. 
His  boyhood  opens  itself  before  him  as  he 
sits  and  thinks,  —  his  years  at  the  old  crazy 
tenement-house,  with  Jacob  Marvin  and  his 
wife  ;  his  life  at  the  wharves ;  his  first  talk 
with  Amy  Rushton,  with  her  father,  with 
the  little  dwarf;  then  his  wandering,  unset 
tled  life  since  ;  the  little  education  he  had 
picked  up  ;  the  many  whom  he  had  called 
his  companions  and  his  friends  ;  until,  from 
all  of  these  his  mind  comes  back,  as  out  of  a 
dream,  and  fixes  itself  on  Amy  Rushton. 

Her  face  had  imaged  itself  in  his  mind  as 
she  appeared  to  him  that  last  morning,  —  a 
most  childlike,  innocent  face,  with  sweet 


276  30UNDBROOK; 

wonder  and  pity  shining  from  the  eyes.  It 
was  all  he  saw.  He  doubts  if  he  should 
recognize  her  now,  unless  she  could  look 
up  to  him  with  that  same  wondering  pity. 

Ah  !  he  was  to  be  pitied  then  and  now. 

How  many  a  time  had  he  said  to  himself, 
that  if  he  could  have  known  his  sister,  could 
have  had  her  influence  to  help  him,  he  might 
have  come  to  be  a  better  man !  How  often 
he  had  tried  to  fancy  what  she  would  be 
like  !  But  always  the  innocent,  pitying  face 
of  Amy  Rushton  came  before  him.  He  felt 
this  ought  not  to  be.  There  was  some  innate 
nobleness  of  soul  about  him,  which  made 
him  feel  that  he  had  no  right  to  compare 
Amy  Rushton  with  any  one, — much  less  a 
sister  of  his.  Yet  he  thought  his  sister  even 
might  be  good,  and  perhaps  lovely. 

All  this  while  he  moves  restlessly  about 
his  room,  thinking  still ;  and,  for  the  first 
time  in  the  last  two  years,  good  resolutions 


OR,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  277 

form  themselves  in  his  mind,  and  ask  him 
to  take  them  into  his  life  henceforth  and  for 
ever.  And  he,  with  the  image  of  that  little 
child-face  still  fresh  in  his  soul,  listens  to 
them ;  and,  as  he  listens,  he  glows  with  a  new, 
strange  fervor,  —  a  longing  to  be  good  and 
upright  and  true ;  till,  in  the  excess  of  his 
emotions,  he  rises  to  his  full  height,  his  chest 
expands  and  heaves,  his  eyes  are  bright,  and 
a  fresh  glow  overspreads  his  cheek. 

"  Yes,  I  will  be  a  man,"  he  says.  "I  will 
find  some  steady  business,  and  devote  myself 
to  it.  I  will  never  enter  a  billiard-room 
again,  nor  be  lured  to  stake  another  cent  at 
a  game.  I  will  never  put  liquor  to  my  lips 
again.  I  will  be  a  man  ;  and  stay,  I  will  sit 
down  and  answer  that  letter  of  Ben's,  and 
answer  it,  too,  in  good,  honest  faith."  So  he 
gradually  calms  himself  a  little,  and  gets  paper 
and  pen.  Ah,  if  those  pitying  eyes  could 
but  look  into  his  now  ! 


278  BOUNDBROOK; 

He  writes  till  dark,  and  sits  looking  over 
his  work.  A  knock  is  heard  at  the  door. 
His  first  impulse  is  not  to  open  it. 

"  Marvin,"  says  a  voice  at  the  door,  "  are 
you  there  ?  " 

He  can  not  resist.  He  rises,  and  admits  his 
visitor. 

"  Writing  a  letter,  as  I  live  !  "  exclaimed 
his  friend  coarsely.  "  I  got  past  that  long 
ago.  Even  my  own  mother  don't  know 
where  I  am.  Rather  hard  for  the  old  lady ; 
ain't  it?" 

Gilbert  sits  regarding  him  rather  absently. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Marvin? 
Don't  you  know  it's  time  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  stammered  Gilbert. 
"  It's  to-night ;  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  To-night  ?  —  of  course,  man  !  Are  you 
losing  your  senses  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  headache,"  said  Gilbert.  "  Go 
along  without  me." 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  279 

The  young  man  looked  blank  at  first,  and 
then  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Now,  Marvin,  needn't  try  to  fool  me  that 
way.  I'm  a  leetle  too  sharp  to  be  hood 
winked,  old  fellow.  Out  of  the  'tin,'  are 
you?" 

"  No  !  "  said  Gilbert,  incensed  at  his  insin 
uation. 

"  Then  come  along  :  if  you  don't,  I'll  tell 
'em  that's  the  reason,  and  I'd  like  to  see  you 
stand  that." 

Gilbert  went.  The  next  day  he  came 
back  to  his  lodgings,  tore  up  his  letter,  and 
as  he  did  so,  looking  for  an  instant  at  the 
innocent  face  daguerrotyped  on  his  memory, 
cursed  himself. 

Scene  Fourth.  —  Three  years  later.  The 
city  has  lured  the  feet  of  our  Gilbert  into  its 
haunts ;  and  on  this  night,  while  Amy  Rush- 
ton  is  quietly  sleeping  at  the  mansion  in  Cum- 
mington  Square,  and  Robert  Bernhard  and 


280  BOUNDBROOK; 

his  sister  Elsie  are  conversing  together  con 
cerning  Gilbert  and  the  years  that  are  past, 
he  sits  at  the  gaming-table,  flushed  with 
wine  and  the  share  he  has  taken  in  the 
games. 

It  is  a  study,  that  gaming-room  ;  but  we 
have  no  space  nor  inclination  to  enter  into 
details.  Nor  are  the  faces  there  less  a  study, 
—  intellect  abused,  innate  refinement  blotted 
out  by  the  debasing  marks  of  crime,  splendid 
social  gifts  turned  to  the  worst  account :  let 
us  not  contemplate  the  scene  too  closely. 

Opposite  Gilbert  sits  a  young  man  a  little 
steadier-handed  than  the  rest.  He  is  wary 
and  careful ;  too  careful  to  forget  that  his 
chances  for  the  game  depend  upon  a  clear 
head.  He  sees  with  inward  delight  that  his 
companions  are  less  clear  than  he. 

The  game  is  up ;  he  wins ;  in  the  exultation 
of  victory  he  gossips  to  a  companion  of  his  late 
gains,  and  of  the  wealthy  society  into  which 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  281 

his  money  lias  recently  given  him  entrance. 
By  some  means  Gilbert  catches  the  name  of 
Amy  Rushton. 

He  is  on  fire  instantly.  A  gambler  taking 
upon  his  lips  her  name,  —  the  pure,  innocent 
child's  ;  for  to  him  she  is  the  little  child  still. 

"  Villain,  how  dare  you ! "  he  hisses  be 
tween  his  set  teeth.  It  was  something  grand, 
in  such  a  circle  as  that,  to  see  the  lofty  scorn 
blazing  in  his  eyes. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  the  other  derisively. 
"  It  looks  well  in  you  to  "  — 

His  words  were  suddenly  stopped.  Gil 
bert,  with  scorn  rising  to  fierce  wrath,  seizes 
a  glass  brimming  with  wine,  and  dashes  its 
contents  full  in  the  boaster's  face. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


i 


A  DISCLOSURE. 

HE  next  evening,  while  Elsie  and  her 
brother  sat  together  after  tea,  a  knock 
,5  was  heard  at  the  door ;  an<J  Robert, 
opening  it,  admitted  Mr.  Rushton. 

"  Do  not  rise,  Miss  Bernhard,"  he  said,  as 
Elsie  hastened  to  draw  up  the  best  chair 
their  stock  of  furniture  afforded.  "  Thank 
you.  You  have  a  cosy  little  room  here. 
Robert,  I  have  often  found  you  ready  to  do 
service  for  me :  will  you  undertake  another 
commission  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  Mr.  Rushton." 

"  Thank  you.      You  will    be    interested 

283 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  283 

yourself  in  this,  perhaps  even  more  than  I. 
I  presume  you  remember  a  lad  whose 
acquaintance  you  made  at  the  wharves  some 
years  since,  —  Gilbert  Marvin  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  sir." 

"  This  lad  interested  me  somewhat  at  the 
time  ;  but,  on  account  of  some  circumstances 
which  I  will  not  relate  now,  I  grew  more 
deeply  interested  in  his  history  after  I  lost 
sight  of  him.  He  was  much  like,  and  yet 
very  unlike,  the  boys  we  meet  ordinarily. 
This  is  not  to  our  purpose  to-night,  however. 
As  I  glanced  at  the  paper  this  morning,  I 
saw  that  an  arrest  was  made  last  night  of 
several  gamblers.  Speaking  of  it  casually 
to-day,  I  heard  the  name  of  Marvin  as  one 
connected  with  it.  It  is  a  little  singular  that 
I  have  always  remembered  that  name  :  but  it 
recalled  the  boy  instantly;  and  I  at  once 
determined  that  something  must  be  done  to 
save  him,  if  he  proved  to  be  the  same.  That 


284  BOUNDBROOK; 

I  have  ascertained  to  a  certainty ;  and  now  I 
come  to  you  as  the  only  person  who  will  go 
to  him  judiciously  and  with  real  friendliness. 
He  is  at  present  in  confinement  for  disturb 
ing  the  peace." 

Mr.  Rushton  had  gone  through  with  this 
relation  without  stopping,  and  almost  hur 
riedly.  Unconsciously,  he  sighed  as  he 
ceased ;  and  Robert  and  Elsie  both  noticed 
that  he  looked  very  grave  and  troubled. 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  glad,  Mr.  Rushton,  to 
do  what  I  can  for  Gilbert,  both  for  the  sake 
of  your  interest  in  him  and  my  own,"  an 
swered  Robert  respectfully.  "  To-day  I 
ascertained  where  he  was,  but  have  not  had 
time  to  see  him  yet.  I  have  often  feared 
this  temptation  for  him." 

"  Then  you  know  him  well  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Rushtou. 

"  I  knew  him  well  for  a  time,  sir,"  Robert 
replied  evasively,  —  "enough  to  see,  that, 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  285 

though  there  was  much  nobleness  and  refine 
ment  in  his  nature,  he  was  likely  to  be  easily 
led  astray." 

"  Excuse  me,  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Rushton, 
who  was  quick  to  notice  the  slight  change  of 
tone ;  "  but  I  have  been  informed  that  you 
know  and  have  attended  to  the  parents  of 
the  young  man  since  he  left  them  years  ago. 
Have  you  any  objections  to  telling  me  what 
you  know  of  their  life  and  his?  " 

"  I  knew  the  Marvins,  sir,  years  ago,  — 
when  I  was  a  small  boy,  —  in  the  town  of 
Stockwell.  Mr.  Marvin  was  then  a  smart 
man,  respectable,  and  not  without  property 
and  some  influence.  The  wife  was  possessed 
of  far  less  mental  activity  than  her  husband, 
and  very  indolent.  Mr.  Marvin's  great  faults 
were  self-conceit  and  extravagance.  He 
went  too  far,  wasted  property  which  neither 
he  nor  his  wife  could  hope  to  regain,  and,  in 
his  discouragement,  took  to  the  use  of  intoxi- 


286  BOUNDBROOK; 

eating  liquor.  He  went  down  as  rapidly  as 
he  had  risen,  became  stupid,  and  finally 
almost  imbecile.  In  this  state  he  has  re 
mained  for  years;  having  the  appearance  of 
an  old  man,  though  really  not  yet  sixty." 

"  I  have  heard,"  Mr.  Rushton  now  said, 
"  that  the  boy  believed  these  were  not  his 
parents.  Of  course,  you  are  informed  on 
that  point." 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  is  not  their  son,  but  the 
son  of  a  brother  of  Mr.  Marvin." 

"  And  what  were  his  parents  ? ' 

"  Good  people  ;  industrious  but  poor, — his 
father  a  first-class  mechanic ;  his  mother  a 
delicate,  lovely  little  woman,  a  true  lady  in 
the  midst  of  her  poverty." 

"  Were  there  no  other  children  ?  "  Mr. 
Rushton  seemed  strangely  interested  in  this 
recital ;  and  Robert  would  gladly  have  been 
spared  his  direct  questioning.  "  I  think 
there  were,  sir,"  he  replied  evasively  as  be- 


OR,  AMY  SUSHTON'S  MISSION.          287 

fore ;  but  they  lived  some  distance  from 
Stockwell,  and  communication  between  re- 
mole  places  was  not  as  easy  as  now." 

Mr.  Rushton  had  listened  with  almost 
suspended  breath,  and  now  he  gazed  into 
Robert's  face  with  intense  eagerness.  "  Go 
on,  if  you  please,  Robert.  I  have  a  glimmer 
ing  idea  of  the  truth,  and  I  do  not  shrink 
from  it.  Besides,  I  trust  you."  He  smiled, 
and  added,  "  Whatever  the  truth  is,  nothing 
could  move  me  in  regard  to  Amy.  She  is 
her  own  sweet  self,  and  my  dear  child  now 
and  for  ever." 

It  was  not  easy  for  Robert  to  speak.  Mr. 
Rushton's  nobleness  and  gentle  speech 
touched  him  deeply. 

"  You  must  tell  me,  Robert,"  quietly 
insisted  Mr.  Rushton ;  "  and  believe  me  when 
I  say  that  I  trust  you  fully.  There  was 
another  child  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 


288  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  A  daughter,  some  years  younger  than 
the  boy  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,  sir." 

"  And  the  little  girl  was  deserted,  turned 
adrift  in  the  streets  of  this  city  some  fifteen 
years  ago,  and  taken  home  by  an  acquaintance 
of  mine  ;  and  he  named  her  Amy,  because  it 
was  his  mother's  name,  and  because  he  loved 
her  so.  Tell  me,  is  this  true  also?  " 

"  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  it  is,  Mr. 
Rushton,"  said  Robert,  regarding  with  moved 
pleasure  the  tender  emotion  visible  in  Mr. 
Rushton's  countenance  as  he  uttered  the 
last  words. 

"  Who  deserted  the  little  one  ?  "  the  gen 
tleman  asked  after  a  few  minutes'  silence,  — 
"  the  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  does  he  know  who  found  her  ?  " 

"  He  has  always  known,  sir." 

"  What  led  him  to  such  an  act  ?  " 


01?,  AMY  RUSHTON '8  MISSION.  289 

"  Selfishness  and  poverty,  induced  by  the 
intoxicating-cup.  The  boy  was  kept  to  get 
their  living  for  them." 

"  Such  selfishness  has  had  its  retribution  ; 
but  it  brought  me  a  joy  and  a  blessing  for 
all  my  life." 

"  These  are  God's  ways,  Mr.  Rushton,"  at 
length  said  Robert.  "  They  are  past  finding 
out." 

"  Ah  !  then  you  are  one  who  places  every 
thing  on  the  list  of  providential  occurrences?  " 

"  I  certainly  am,  sir." 

"  But  things  strange  as  this  happen  every 
day,  only  the  world  at  large  does  not  know 
them." 

"Very  true,  sir;  but  does  not  God  live 
and  act  every  day  ?  "  said  Robert  respect 
fully. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mr.  Rushton,  shaking  his 
head,  "  I  confess  myself  wanting  in  an  argu 
ment  of  this  kind.  I  thank  you  most  sin- 


290  BOUNDBROOK; 

cerely,"  he  continued,  rising,  "for  your  words 
to-night.  They  shall  never  be  misconstrued ; 
for  I  understand  perfectly  your  reluctance 
in  telling  me  what  you  have.  I  only  want  to 
say,  that  I  do  not  wish  my  daughter  to  know 
this ;  and,  if  I  can  read  faces,  the  truth  is  as 
safe  with  your  sister  as  with  you.  Let  me 
hear  from  you  in  regard  to  the  young  man  as 
soon  as  possible.  Good-evening !  " 

When  Robert  came  back  from  accompa 
nying  Mr.  Rushton  to  the  door,  he  went  to 
Elsie  with  a  bright,  relieved  face. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Elsie,  "  I  am  truly  glad, 
Robert.  How  strange  that  he  should  have 
come  to  you !  And  how  tenderly  and  lov 
ingly  he  speaks  of  Amy  as  his  daughter !  and 
well  he  may." 

"  How  does  Mrs.  Rushton  regard  her 
now  ?  "  inquired  Robert. 

"  Just  the  same.  One  would  think  her 
heart  must  soften  toward  her ;  for  she  is  all 


OS,  AMY  RUSHTON  *S  MISSION.  291 

attention,  and  full  of  unobtrusive,  little  loving 
ways :  but  I  think  Mrs.  Rushton  is  deter 
mined  to  be  cold  and  distant.  She  is  more 
than  ever  attentive  to  enhancing  her  own 
beauty." 

"  Then  she  is  still  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Beautiful  ?  —  yes,  in  face  and  form.  But 
there  is  one  beauty  of  face,  and  another  of 
soul." 

"Yet  both  are  the  gift  of  God,"  said 
Robert.  "  Put  away  your  work,  sister,  and 
let  us  have  prayers  now ;  for  I  must  be  up 
betimes.  Where  is  Oliver  ?  " 

"  He  went  up  stairs  when  Mr.  Rushton 
came  in.  I  will  call  him."  Elsie  opened  the 
stairway  door,  and  spoke.  A  lad  of  some 
dozen  years  came  quickly  down,  and  took 
his  seat  by  the  table.  He  was  an  orphan, 
the  child  of  their  sister,  who  within  a  few 
days  had  gone  to  join  her  husband  in  the 
other  world,  and  left  this  new  care  for  Elsie 


292  BOUNDBROOK; 

and  Robert.  But  to  them  every  thing  came 
as  from  the  Lord,  and  was  counted  a  blessing. 
Oliver  had  been  welcomed  heartily  to  their 
humble  home  that  day ;  and,  as  Robert  prayed 
to-night,  he  thanked  God  that  he  had  given 
them  this  new  trust  and  pleasure.  Even 
Elsie  almost  wondered  that  he  could  have 
faith  to  pray  thus,  remembering  that  their 
combined  earnings  barely  sufficed  to  support 
them  now.  But  nothing  ever  dampened 
Robert  Bernhard's  cheerful  trust.  "  Sister 
Elsie,"  he  would  say,  "  God  never  gives  us 
any  thing  that  is  not  necessary  for  our  disci 
pline.  Why  should  we  not  take  as  a  bles 
sing  every  thing  that  seems  adverse,  as  well 
as  that  which  seems  propitious  ?  Be  sure 
there's  a  blessing  hidden  somewhere.  Don't 
the  most  refreshing  showers  fall  from  the 
blackest  clouds  ?  I  tell  you,  dear,  God  deals 
often  the  kindliest  when  he  seems  to  deal 
the  most  severely.  We  thank  God  for  pros- 


OR,  AMY  liUSHTON'S  MISSION.          293 

perity,  but  never  think  to  thank  him  for 
trials.  And  what  if  I  had  always  had  good 
health,  and  an  upright  frame,  and  "  — 

But  at  this  Elsie  would  stop  the  dear 
homely  little  fellow  with  caresses  and  kisses ; 
for  they  were  very  fond  and  foolish,  this 
brother  and  sister,  living,  next  to  their  Lord, 
for  each  other  and  in  each  other.  So  Robert 
seldom  got  farther  than  this  in  his  theorizing. 

If  this  were  a  highly-wrought  romance,  in 
which  the  chief  aim  was  to  produce  startling 
effects,  this  disclosure  of  Amy  and  Gilbert's 
relationship  would  be  better  brought  out  at 
the  close  of  the  volume.  But  we  are  not 
writing  of  unnatural  scenes  or  characters. 
As  Robert  Bernhard  said,  this  was  one  of 
God's  providences ;  and  such  things  are  tak 
ing  place  every  day.  Tracing  the  circum 
stance  to  its  source,  we  find  it  the  result  of 
wrong  living,  extravagance,  selfishness,  and 


294  BOUNDBROOK; 

these,  in  their  turn,  the  result  of  the  use  of  the 
inebriating  glass.  How  many  a  more  start 
ling  train  of  events  has  the  use  of  that  glass 
led  to  !  How  many  a  more  fearful  crime  has 
been  committed  under  its  influence  than  the 
voluntary  desertion  of  a  frail  child  at  night 
in  the  streets  of  a  city  !  On  the  other  hand, 
how  tender  the  overruling  hand  which  di 
rected  Mr.  Rushton  to  the  little  one  !  How 
watchful  since  of  her  interests !  Yet  stranger 
things  are  written  in  the  book  of  God's  prov 
idences.  He  leads  us  by  ways  we  know  not, 
nor  ever  shall  know,  until,  in  the  course  of 
an  endless  eternity,  we  have  had  time  to 
learn  something  of  his  stupendous  plans  in 
the  guidance  of  our  world.  There  is  noth 
ing  strange  to  God. 

Robert  Bernhard  had  for  some  years  been 
a  city  missionary  ;  at  first  voluntarily,  as  he 
could  get  tune,  and  refusing  any  remunera- 


OR,  AM7  SUSHTON'S  MISSION.  295 

tion.  But  as  he  was  never  strong,  and  grew 
still  less  so,  friends  insisted  that  he  should 
give  up  his  customary  occupation,  and  devote 
himself  entirely  to  this  interest.  So  now  he 
daily  went  forth  on  his  rounds  with  happy 
heart,  and  not  unfrequently  singing  as  he 
went.  How  many  he  helped  toward  a  better 
life  both  for  this  world  and  the  next  ! 

"  Poor  hunchback  !  "  the  world  said,  look 
ing,  on  him  with  pity.  "  Happy  fellow ! "  he 
said,  looking  within. 

'  One  of  earth's  noblemen,"  said  those  who 
knew  and  loved  him. 

"  Dear  child  of  God,  and  winner  of  souls," 
said  the  angels  who  saw  the  work  he  did. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

HELP  FOR  THE  EBBING. 

[OBERT  went  early  the  next  morning 
to  Gilbert's  place  of  confinement. 
Would  he  see  him  ?  he  queried  with 
himself.  Gilbert's  moody  nature  as  a  boy 
was  so  marked  a  feature  of  his  character, 
that  it  was  hardly  to  be  supposed  he  had 
outgrown  it.  The  attendant  who  accom 
panied  Robert  to  his  room  looked  in,  and 
asked  if  he  would  see  a  friend. 

"  What  name  ?  "  he  inquired  coldly. 
"  Robert  Bernhard." 

"  Don't  know  him,"  was  the  first  reply ; 
then  a  sudden,  "  Yes,  I  do. 


297 

"  He  says  you  will  remember  him.  He 
wishes  to  see  you  very  much. 

"  I  will  see  him,  then."  Robert  stepped 
inside,  and  was  alone  with  the  young  man. 
Gilbert  gave  him  a  hasty  glance,  and  turned 
away.  "  Go  away !  "  he  said :  "  you  come  to 
condemn  me." 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Robert.  "  I  come  to  talk 
hopefully  with  you.  For  what  should  I,  a 
fellow-mortal  in  danger  of  falling,  condemn 
you?" 

"  I  have  fallen  so  low !  "  the  young  man 
replied  despondently.  "  But  you  know  noth 
ing  about  it,  —  such  temptation  and  provoca 
tion  ! " 

"  Perhaps  not  exactly  such ;  but  I  have 
seen  much  of  temptation  and  sin.  And  I 
have  seen  worse  temptations  resisted,  and 
worse  sins  repented  of." 

"  But  not  by  such  as  I.  I  tell  you  I  can 
not  help  it.  I  have  no  will  of  my  own.  I 


298  BOVNDBROOK; 

have  been  ashamed  of  gambling  a  thousand 
tunes.  I  have  cursed  myself.  It  has  cursed 
me.  But  I  was  dragged  on  in  spite  of  my 
self  ;  and  then,  when  they  had  me  in  their 
power,  how  they  gloated  over  me  !  " 

"  Do  not  think  of  that  now,"  said  Robert 
cheerily.  "  I  came  to  tell  you  there  is  a 
better  way  of  life,  if  you  will  but  choose  it. 
I  would  not  force  myself  upon  you ;  but  I 
want  to  be  your  friend.  You  have  other 
friends.  I  will  free  you  from  this  place,  and 
you  shall  come  to  my  home." 

"  How  came  you  to  think  of  me  ?  "  inquired 
Gilbert.  "  I  have  thought  of  you  often,  but 
never  dreamed  of  seeing  you  again." 

"  I  have  watched  for  you  every  day,"  the 
other  replied.  "  When  I  have  seen  before 
me  a  youth  whose  figure  reminded  me  of  you, 
I  said  to  myself,  '  Perhaps  it  is  Gilbert  Mar 
vin.'  When  I  have  been  to  the  old  place  at 
the  wharves,  I  have  looked  to  see  you  start 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  299 

up  before  me  at  any  moment.  When  I  read 
of  arrests,  I  have  looked  for  your  name  in 
the  list." 

"  Then  you  judged  me  well,  it  seems,"  said 
Gilbert  bitterly. 

"  I  judged  you  by  myself,  by  human 
nature  in  general,  and  somewhat  by  what  I 
knew  of  you.  I  know  too  well  to  what  dan 
ger  youth  are  exposed;  and  God  knows  I 
pity  rather  than  condemn  them.  So  many 
forms  of  vice  are  made  attractive  ! 

"  But  I  give  you  my  word,  Mr.  Bernhard," 
said  Gilbert,  "  that  I  have  yielded  to  no  sins 
other  than  drinking  and  gambling.  Yes ;  I 
do  swear.  But  I  am  not  a  liar  :  I  scorn  the 
meanness  of  it.  I  am  no  thief,  though  I  am 
down  far  enough.  I  am  not  such  as  some." 

"  Then  God  be  thanked,"  replied  Robert, 
"  that  so  much  of  manliness  is  yours.  My 
dear  young  friend,"  he  added  warmly,  laying 
his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  "  when  you  look 


300  BOUNDBROOK; 

at  me,  remember  I  have  my  temptations.  I 
am  weak,  as  you  acknowledge  yourself  to  be. 
My  spirit  is  proud,  and  my  inclinations  are 
far  more  towards  the  bad  than  the  good  ; 
and,  but  for  the  grace  of  God,  I  should  fall 
every  day." 

Gilbert  looked  earnestly  at  him.  The 
homely  face  was  so  lighted  with  enthusiasm, 
and  so  radiant  with  the  soul's  consciousness 
of  resting  in  God,  that  it  was  fairly  beautiful. 
But  he  sighed  heavily  the  next  moment. 
"  I've  no  faith  in  those  things,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  may  have,"  Robert  cried.  "  Oh  I 
there  is  no  one  so  fallen,  but  God  can  lift  him 
up." 

"I  know  nothing  about  those  things," 
repeated  Gilbert.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  were  under 
a  curse.  Go  away  from  me  !  Do  not  talk  to 
me  any  more." 

"  Gilbert,  said  Robert  after  a  while,  "  was 
there  ever  any  thing  or  anybody  that  drew 
you  toward  good  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  301 

Gilbert  started  to  his  feet.  "  You  are 
mocking  me  !  "  he  cried  almost  passionately. 
"  She  was  so  lovely,  and  so  full  of  pity  for 
me  !  —  and  only  a  child.  I  only  thought  of 
her  as  that,  —  as  if  she  had  been  my  little 
sister.  And  I  could  have  killed  him  for 
speaking  her  name  in  such  a  place !  "  He 
strode  up  and  down  the  little  apartment  in 
deep  agitation.  Robert  did  not  know  what 
this  meant,  and  sat  silent.  Gilbert  came  to 
him  after  a  while,  "  What  made  you  ask  that 
question  ?  " 

"  I  asked  it  without  any  such  motive  as 
you  impute  to  me.  I  do  not  even  understand 
to  what  you  alluded  just  now." 

"  You  do  not  ?  I  fancied  every  one  must 
know  it.  The  villain  !  How  dared  he  speak 
of  her  ?  "  And  again  Gilbert's  wrath  rose, 
and  the  same  noble  scorn  that  had  blazed  in 
his  eyes  the  night  before  blazed  out  again. 
After  a  while  he  grew  calm,  and  came  and 
sat  down  by  Robert. 


302  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  saw  her  at  the 
wharves  with  her  father,  and  afterwards  in 
the  country.  I  was  as  innocent  then  of  great 
sin  as  she.  And  I  once  even  called  her  by 
name  in  my  boyish  freedom :  I  am  not  fit  to 
do  it  now.  I  have  learned  since  then  that  I 
had  a  little  sister  once ;  and  thinking  what 
she  might  have  been  to  me,  and  that  she 
might  perhaps  have  been  as  innocent  and 
lovely  as  this  little  child,  how  could  I  but 
resent  that  dastard's  breathing  her  name, 
even  though  it  were  with  respect?  The 
sweet  little  child  !  Such  tender,  pitying  eyes 
she  had !  Perhaps,  if  I  could  have  known 
my  sister,  I  might  have  been  a  better  man." 
He  relapsed  into  despondency  again. 

"  Gilbert,"  asked  Robert,  "  do  I  understand 
you  to  speak  of  Mr.  Rushton's  little  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  As  you  saw  her  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


OS,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.         303 

"  And  when  this  person  in  the  gaming- 
room  mentioned  her  name,  you  resented  it, 
and  that  led  to  the  quarrel.  Will  he  pursue 
it?" 

"  No :  he  dares  not.  But  the  noise 
brought  in  the  police ;  and  we  were  arrested 
at  once." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  he  was  saying  ?  " 

"  Boasting  of  the  high  society  into  which 
his  money  had  given  him  admission." 

"  And  that  was  all  ?  " 

"  Was  not  that  enough  ?  What  right  had 
he  to  be  in  good  society  ?  How  could  he 
look  such  purity  in  the  face  ?  " 

"  Will  you  tell  me  his  name  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  give  it." 

Robert  rose  to  go,  and  gave  Gilbert  his 
hand.  "  May  I  see  you  to-morrow  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Gilbert  eagerly.  "  But 
stay,  do  you  know  Mr.  Rushton  ?  " 


304  SOUNDBROOK; 

"  I  have  had  occasion  to  do  some  service 
for  him,  and  have  known  him  in  that  way," 
Robert  replied  indifferently. 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  remembers  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  more  than  likely." 

"  You  asked  me,"  said  Gilbert,  "  if  any 
one  ever  led  me  toward  good.  I  was  so  full 
of  the  memory  of  the  little  child,  that  I  did 
not  think  of  any  others ;  but  there  were  two 
whom  you  know,  Mr.  Rushton  and  yourself, 
who  led  me  to  look  higher  than  I  had  ever 
before.  But  you  see  it  was  of  no  use,  no 
use,"  his  old  despondent  mood  returning. 

"  But  I  am  here  to  tell  you  that  it  may  be 
of  use,  and  all  other  providences  that  God 
has  thrown  in  your  way.  Be  a  man,  Gilbert 
Marvin.  You  do  not  know  what  you  are 
born  to.  You  have  sinned  deeply,  it  is  true ; 
but  Christ  comes  to  them  who  have  sinned 
just  like  you.  Sometimes  I  think  his  infinite 
love  yearns  most  tenderly  over  such.  To 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  305 

them  who  have  sinned  much  shall  much  be 
forgiven.  Go  to  him  for  forgiveness  and 
light.  Repent,  and  let  these  be  your  last 
wilful  sins  against  him." 

"  Repent,"  said  Gilbert  bitterly :  "  I  tell 
you  I  do  not  understand  such  talk.  I  tell 
you  I  have  no  will  to  resist  temptation. 
When  I  crave  excitement,  I  am  utterly  un 
able  to  keep  away  from  it." 

"  Then,  knowing  your  own  weakness," 
returned  Robert,  "  turn  and  lay  hold  on  God's 
strength.  May  he  show  you  that  there  is  no 
other  refuge ! "  With  a  warm  clasp  of  the 
hand  he  left  him. 

As  soon  as  Robert  had  leisure,  he  went  to 
Mr.  Rushton.  The  gentleman  was  in  his 
library  alone  when  he  was  announced,  and 
directed  the  servant  to  conduct  him  thither. 
Accordingly  Robert  presently  entered.  Mr. 
Rushton  drew  up  a  chair  for  him  near  his 

own. 

ao 


306  BOUNDBROOK; 

"What  news  do  you  bring  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  have  seen  the  young  man,  and  had  con 
siderable  conversation  with  him." 

"  How  is  he  ?     Disposed  to  do  better  ?  " 

*'  I  can  hardly  say,  sir.  He  is  easily  dis 
couraged,  and  seems  greatly  depressed  under 
the  idea  that  he  can  never  resist  temptation." 

"  A  natural  result  of  his  present  circum 
stances,  perhaps." 

"  It  is  his  disposition  to  be  variable  in  his 
moods,"  observed  Robert.  "  But  this  con 
sciousness  of  weakness  is  a  good  sign,  I 
think." 

"  How  ?     Why  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Rushton. 

"  Because,  sir,  when  we  come  to  feel  our 
own  weakness,  we  are  driven  to  the  true 
source  of  strength." 

"  According  to  your  belief,  Robert." 

"According,  Mr.  Rushton,"  said  Robert 
respectfully,  "  to  what  is  written  in  God's 
word,  and  in  the  experience  of  humanity 


OR,  AMY  KUSIITON'S  MISSION".  307 

everywhere.  No  one  so  sure  to  fall  as  he 
that  boasts  of  his  own  strength,  and  no  one 
so  sure  to  overcome  as  he  who  leaves  off 
clinging  to  self." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Rushton  :  "  we  are 
not  here  to  discuss  such  points.  Do  you 
think  it  best  for  me  to  see  the  young  man  ? 
I  should  like  to  find  out  his  capabilities,  and 
start  him  anew  if  he  is  worth  the  trial." 

"  So  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  his  capabili 
ties  are  fair;  and,  although  fluctuating  and 
moody,  there  is  something  noble  in  his 
nature.  Do  you  know  what  led  to  the  dis 
turbance  in  the  first  place  ?  " 

"  At  the  gambling-hall  ?     No,  I  do  not." 

Robert  gave  him  the  account  as  he  had 
gathered  it  from  Gilbert.  Mr.  Rushton  was 
deeply  agitated.  "  I  remember,"  said  he 
presently,  "  there  was  a  stranger  here  a  short 
time  ago,  not  by  special  invitation.  He 
belongs  to  a  good  family,  has  fine  gifts  and 


308  BOUNDBROOK; 

pleasing  manners.  Oh,  what  graces  hide  the 
worst  faults !  Gilbert  intimated  that  he 
spoke  only  boastfully  of  the  society  here  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  could  not  bear  that,  knowing 
what  he  was,  and  remembering  the  little  child 
who  had  talked  so  sweetly  to  him,  and  think 
ing,  too,  that  he  had  a  little  sister  once." 

"  It  was  noble  in  him  truly.  It  can  not  be 
that  he  has  any  suspicions  of  the  truth  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  he  has  the  slightest." 

Mr.  Rushton  rose,  went  to  his  safe,  and 
took  out  a  roll  of  bank-notes. 

"Take  this,  Robert,"  he  said:  "pay  the 
young  man's  fine,  and  keep  the  rest  for  what 
ever  emergency  may  arise.  Could  you  ac 
commodate  him  at  your  house  for  a  day  or 
so,  till  he  is  settled  in  some  employment  ?  I 
have  a  place  in  view  that  I  think  would  be 
just  the  thing  for  him." 

"  Gladly,  sir,"  Robert  replied  heartily.  "  I 
thank  you  for  him  and  myself  with  all  my 
heart." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.          309 

"  I  think  it  will  not  be  best  for  me  to  see 
him,"  Mr.  Rushton  added  as  Robert  moved 
toward  the  door ;  "  but  I  should  like  to 
have  reports  of  his  progress  from  time  to 
time." 

"  I  will  keep  you  informed,  sir." 
What  Mr.  Rushton  was  thinking  of  is  not 
clear,  as  he  went  up  to  his  own  room,  and, 
sitting  down  in  the  solitude  and  stillness, 
sighed  heavily.  Why  was  he  so  interested 
in  this  young  man  ?  Was  it  for  Amy's  sake  ? 
What  difference  could  it  ever  make  to  her  ? 
He  felt  oppressed  and  burdened.  After  a 
while  he  went  to  his  desk,  and  took  out 
the  childish  journal,  written  almost  nine 
years  ago.  Those  artless  recitals  of  Amy's 
thoughts,  —  the  simple,  tender  story  of 
Maggie  Burns  !  As  often  as  Mr.  Rushton 
had  read  this,  it  came  to  him  with  a  new 
freshness  every  time.  "  There  is  no  sham 
there,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  no  exaggeration, 


310  BOUNDBKOOK; 

as  in  tales  that  older  minds  repeat.     It  is  all 
true." 

He  closed  the  book,  put  it  away,  went 
down  to  the  library,  and  rang  for  the  servant 
to  call  Amy  to  him.  She  came  directly. 

Her  sweet  face  was  as  like  what  it  was 
when  a  child  as  the  maturer  face  could  be, 
—  the  same  soft,  bright  eyes,  the  same  pure 
brow,  and  wistful,  grave  lips.  Her  dress, 
though  in  elegance  every  way  suited  to  Cum- 
mington  Square,  as  Mrs.  Rushton  had  de 
termined  it  should  be,  was  characteristic  of 
her  modest  self,  and  worn  always  with  a 
gentle  dignity  with  which  even  Mrs.  Rushton 
could  not  find  fault. 

Mr.  Rushton  advanced  to  meet  her,  and  led 
her  to  her  favorite  chair,  in  the  deep  recess 
of  the  window ;  but,  instead  of  taking  it, 
she  quickly  wheeled  one  to  the  side  of  it  for 
him.  Having  playfully  forced  him  into  it, 
she  took  her  own,  and,  leaning  on  the  broad, 


OS,  AMY  BUSHTON'S  MISSION.  311 

arms  of  his,  said  brightly,  "  Now,  what  is  it, 
father  ?     What  shall  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  dear  child.  I  was  lonely,  or 
fancied  I  was,  and  wanted  to  see  you." 

"  You  are  not  well,  father." 

"  Perfectly.  But  I  am  growing  old, 
Amy." 

"  I  do  not  perceive  it,"  she  said,  with  one 
of  her  grave,  wistful  looks  at  him. 

''"  But,  when  I  compare  myself  with  young 
men,  they  seem  very  young  indeed  to  me,  — 
as  you  still  seem  a  child." 

"  I  am  glad  I  do,  father." 

"  And  this  makes  me  feel  old.  What  I 
was  thinking  of  just  then  was  this.  You  re 
member  a  boy  whom  we  saw  a  few  times  at 
the  wharves,  and  who  afterward  wandered 
out  to  Boundbrook.  You  wanted  me  to  find 
him  if  I  could." 

"  I  remember,  father." 

"  But  think,  if  we  should  find  Jiira  now,    - 


312  BOUNDBROOK; 

he  would  be  grown  up,  a  young  man.     It  is 
nine  years  ago." 

"  Yes ;  and  I  was  a   little  girl,   running 
races  with  the  lambs.     The    boy's  conduct 
impressed  me  so   strangely,  I   am  afraid  he 
did    not  do  as  well  as   he   might.     Do  you 
know   any   thing   about  him  ? "      Her  seri 
ously-intent  eyes  were  fixed  on  his. 
"  I  have  heard  of  him,  Amy." 
"  What  have  you  heard,  father  ?  " 
"  He  is  under  arrest  in  this  city  for  being 
found  in  a  .gambling-saloon,    and  making  a 
disturbance  there." 

"  O  father !  "  Amy  sat  still  and  white. 
"  I  had  never  thought  of  any  thing  so  bad  as 
that." 

"  Yet  consider,  dear  child,  that  the  imme 
diate  cause  of  the  disturbance  was  his  noble 
indignation  at  hearing  a  name  that  he  re 
spected  spoken  in  a  room  like  that,"  said  Mr. 
Rushton,  with  a  coolness  which  he  did  not  at 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  313 

all  feel.  "  And  granting  that  this  in  itself 
was  commendable,  and  that  there  are  some 
good  traits  of  character  about  him;  that, 
though  easily  led  astray,  he  is  not  basely 
mean  and  low,  —  would  you  think  it  best  to 
try  to  reclaim  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  very  wrong  not  to, 
dear  father." 

"  Do  you  want  your  father  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  it,  Amy  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  if  you  could  reach  him.  Oh, 
it  would  toe  a  good  work  to  help  him  to  live 
rightly ! "  she  cried  with  enthusiasm. 
"What  will  you  do,  father?" 

"  Get  him  out  of  confinement,  and  per 
suade  my  friend  Irvin  to  take  him  into  his 
employ  as  porter,  perhaps,  till  we  see  what 
he  is.  If  he  does  well,  advance  him." 

"  And  then  what  ?  " 

"  Can  we  do  more  ?  " 

She    looked    at    him    with    such  wistful 


314  BOUNDBROOK; 

tenderness.  "  Who  will  help  him  toward  a 
better  inward  life,  as  well  as  outward,  dear 
father  ?  " 

He  smiled  at  her.  "  My  dear  child,  will 
not  this  be  doing  it  ?  " 

"  It  will  only  be  a  step  toward  it,  only  a 
foundation  for  higher  principles  to  be  built 
on.  Who  will  help  him  toward  God  ?  " 

"  As  to  that,  daughter,  since  you  think  it 
so  important,  probably  Robert  Bernhard  will 
do  it.  Robert  is  a  brother  of  your  mother's 
seamstress,  good  and  true  as  the  sun.  He  is 
one  of  the  city  missionaries  ;  and  I  rather 
think,"  he  added,  smiling  again,  "  that  he  is 
just  one  of  your  class  of  Christians.  You 
are  all  alike,  I  find." 

His  tone  was  just  a  little  bantering  ;  but 
Amy  scarcely  gave  it  a  thought.  She  was  so 
thankful  that  Robert  Bernhard  would  help 
this  young  man  ;  for  she  knew  him  somewhat, 
having  seen  him  once  among  some  poor  peo 
ple  she  had  found  out. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.  315 

"  I  am  so  glad,  father,  that  there  is  some 
one  to  help  him  !  "  was  her  joyful  response. 

"  I  wonder  why  you  have  always  felt  such 
an  interest  in  that  strange  boy,"  Mr.  Rushton 
said  musingly. 

"  I  have  wondered  myself,  father.  But  I 
think  God  sometimes  gives  us  this  special 
interest  in  people  that  we  may  do  something 
for  them." 

"  But  there  is  no  way  that  you  can  do  any 
thing  for  him,  even  now." 

"  Yes,  there  is,  dear  father,  and  always  has 
been,  one  way." 

He  read  what  she  meant  in  her  expressive 
eyes. 

"  If  I  have  prayed,  believing,  father,  this 
is  one  answer ;  and  God  knows  how  to  give 
more." 

"  O  Amy,  Amy !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Rushton, 
"  you  go  so  far  beyond  me  !  I  do  not  com 
prehend  you  at  all  when  you  talk  in  this 
way." 


316 


BOUNDBROOK. 


The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  "  Dear 
father,  when  God  has  taught  you  what  he 
has  me,  you  will." 

Mr.  Rushton  started  up,  and,  taking  Amy 
with  him,  went  to  one  of  the  library-shelves, 
and  began  showing  her  some  new  books  he 
had  sent  home  that  day. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE  HAPPY  HOME. 

^ILBERT  was  released,  and  for  a  few- 
days  Robert  welcomed  him  to  his 
humble  home.  It  was  an  increase  of 
Elsie's  cares  that  she  hardly  knew  how  to 
meet :  but  little  Oliver  was  as  handy  as  a  girl, 
from  being  so  long  accustomed  to  help  his 
feeble  mother;  and  nothing  pleased  him 
better  than  to  help  about  the  domestic  affairs 
of  the  house,  when  out  of  school,  which 
he  had  commenced  to  attend  regularly. 
Gilbert  seemed  truly  thankful  for  his  release, 
and  went  to  work  at  the  place  of  which  Mr. 
Rushton  had  spoken  to  Amy,  full  of  good 

817 


318  BOUNDBROOR; 

resolutions.  Still  he  did  not  know  what 
friend  had  helped  him  thus  far,  both  Mr. 
Rushton  and  Robert  believing  it  best,  for  the 
present,  to  keep  him  ignorant  of  it. 

It  was  not  practicable  that  he  should 
remain  with  these  friends  long  ;  and  Robert 
kindly  told  him  so  one  evening  after  he  had 
come  home  from  his  work.  It  depressed  him 
greatly.  "  I  shall  go  down  again,"  said  he. 

"  I  would  be  glad  to  have  you  remain  with 
us,  Gilbert,  very  glad,"  Robert  replied 
warmly.  "  But  it  seems  quite  impossible 
with  our  scanty  room." 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  on  at  all,"  was 
the  young  man's  gloomy  reply. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Robert  cheerily.  "  We 
don't  allow  the  '  blues  '  in  this  house,  Gilbert. 
When  I  found  you  at  the  wharves  years  ago, 
you  had  just  been  having  a  somewhat  des 
perate  fit  of  them.  Don't  you  remember 
I  tried  to  laugh  them  out  of  you  ? 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  319 

"  God  has  given  us  too  many  good  things 
to  be  heavy-hearted.  We  insult  his  wonder 
ful  kindness  every  time  we  are  gloomy  and 
discouraged.  Listen  now :  hear  Elsie  and 
Oliver  singing  in  the  next  room  !  " 

The  singers  were  so  near,  that  they  could 
easily  catch  the  words :  — 

"  Awake,  my  soul,  in  joyful  lays, 
And  sing  thy  great  Redeemer's  praise ! 
He  justly  claims  a  song  from  me : 
His  loving-kindness,  oh,  how  free ! 
Loving-kindness,  loving-kindness, 
His  loving-kindness,  oh,  how  free !  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Robert,  "  if  I 
could  hear  you  sing  those  words  with  as 
much  feeling  as  Elsie  does  !  Why  is  she  so 
bright  and  cheerful?  No  one  but  myself 
knows  how  unsatisfied  her  tastes  are  with 
her  present  life  :  we  are  poor,  and  I  am 
greatly  dependent  on  her.  Every  day  she 


320  BOUNDBROOK ; 

toils  wearily  with  her  needle  ;  and  yet  she  is 
always  just  as  you  have  seen  her,  —  brave 
and  happy,  and  always  so  kind  and  loving 
to  me." 

"You  make  me  ashamed  of  myself,  Mr. 
Bernhard,"  said  Gilbert  in  the  pause  that 
followed.  "  I  will  not  be  so  despondent. 
But  I  wish  I  had  a  sister  to  make  just  such 
a  happy  little  home  for  me." 

"  There  is  always  happiness  where  God  is 
in  the  heart,  Gilbert.  You  know  your  own 
weakness ;  you  acknowledge  that  you  can  not 
keep  from  falling.  Put  yourself  in  his  hands 
now  and  for  ever,  —  body  and  soul,  your 
time,  strength,  and  talents." 

Gilbert  shook  his  head.  "  I  was  never 
taught  those  things." 

"  No  teaching  is  necessary,"  was  Robert's 
reply,  "  except  that  you  should  be  taught  by 
the  Spirit  of  God.  When  you  learn  that  you 
are  poor  and  miserable  and  blind  and  naked 
in  God's  sight,  and  that  he  only  can  make 


OR,  AMY  EUSHTON'S  MISSION.  321 

you  rich  and  happy,  and  open  your  eyes,  and 
clothe  you,  you  will  go  to  him.  That  is  the 
work  begun.  When  he  has  done  all  this 
for  you,  and  kept  you  by  his  strength  from 
falling,  purified  you  and  sanctified  you,  and 
taken  you  to  his  home,  where  sin  can  get  no 
power  over  you,  then  the  work  is  done. 
And  just  this  is  the  history  of  many  a  wan 
derer  in  a  very  few  words :  They  were 
weak ;  they  sinned  ;  they  fell ;  they  saw 
their  hearts  as  they  were ;  they  repented, 
and  went  to  God:  he  received  them,  kept 
them,  glorified  them." 

"  But  all  this  is  nothing  to  me,"  said  Gil 
bert. 

"Why  not?" 

"  It's  only  for  those  who  have  a  mind  for 
such  things." 

"  No  one  has  a  mind  for  them  until  they 
have   seen  their  need  of   them.     And  who 
can  dare  say  he  has  no  need  ?  " 
21 


322  BOUNDBROOK ; 

Again  the  voices  floated  in  from  the  room 
where  the  singers  were  at  work  :  —  . 

"  He  saw  me  ruined  by  the  fall, 
Yet  loved  me,  notwithstanding  all ; 
He  saved  me  from  my  lost  estate  : 
His  loving-kindness,  oh,  how  great  1 
Loving-kindness,  loving-kindness, 
His  loving-kindness,  oh,  how  great  1 " 

Gilbert  was  silent ;  and  Robert  turned  his 
attention  to  the  book  he  had  all  the  while 
held  in  his  hand.  Presently  Elsie  and  Oliver 
came  in,  alert  and  happy,  but  shaking  with 
cold. 

"  Poor  children  ! "  cried  Robert,  "  how  I 
wish  we  could  afford  two  fires  this  cold 
weather!" 

"  Save  your  pity,  brother,"  cried  Elsie 
merrily  :  "  we  shall  soon  be  warm.  A  new 
book,  Robert  ?  " 

"  Yes:  one  that  was  lent  me  to-day.  Shall 
I  read  aloud  ?  " 


07?,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION  323 

"  Do,  please,  if  the  others  would  like  it," 
seating  herself  to  sew ;  while  Oliver  chose  a 
cricket,  and  began  to  pare  some  apples  he 
had  brought  in. 

"  We  are  all  ready,  aren't  we  ?  Oliver, 
my  child,  it  is  customary,  I  believe,  to  let 
apple-parings  fall  into  the  pan,  not  on  the 
floor." 

Oliver  took  his  aunt's  merry  suggestion 
with  a  smile,  and  arranged  his  work  accord 
ingly- 

"  Now  we  are  ready,  again,  Robert." 
Robert  returned  to  the  book  he  had  been 
examining,  and  read  for  some  time  with  a 
fluency  and  taste  which  reminded  Gilbert 
strongly  of  his  friend  Ben  Harvey,  who  had 
read  to  him  many  an  evening. 

The  book  proved  to  be  not  only  entertain 
ing,  but  instructive,  being  a  history  of  some 
scientific  operations  which  had  created  no 
small  stir  in  the  educated  world  ;  and  Rob- 


324  BOUNDBROOK; 

ert's  audience  listened  with  eyes  and  ears 
intent. 

"  Now,  Uncle  Robert,"  questioned  Oliver, 
as  he  closed  the  book  when  the  hands  of  the 
clock  approached  nine,  "  do  you  understand 
all  that ;  I  mean  every  bit  of  it  ?  " 

"  Not  every  bit,  Oliver,  I  must  confess.  I 
always  give  such  things  a  second  reading.  For 
me,  the  better  way  to  master  such  books  is  to 
get  the  general  outline  first,  and  then  re-read 
and  digest  the  matter  slowly.  At  all  events, 
we  ought  not  to  take  in  too  much  at  once. 
If  you  swallow  every  thing  at  the  first  start, 
you  will  be  likely  to  retain  very  little.  Your 
ideas  will  be  so  diffuse  and  scattered,  that 
really  they  will  amount  to  almost  none  at  all. 
So,  Oliver,  aim  always  at  conciseness  in 
whatever  you  do,  —  reading  or  work.  Get 
every  thing  into  as  small  a  compass  as 
possible." 

"  As  with  your  apple-work  to-night,"  ob- 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  325 

served  Elsie.  "  Keep  within  the  limits  of  the 
pan  I  gave  you,  and  you  are  all  right;  but 
scatter  your  materials  around  you,  and  you 
are  afloat  in  a  sea  of  apple-parings,"  &c. 

"  I  haven't  dropped  any  more,  have  I  ?  " 
cried  the  boy  in  mock  dismay,  following  the 
direction  of  his  aunt's  eyes.  "  There,  that  is 
just  like  me  !  I  was  so  interested  in  that 
book,  aunt.  But  I  won't  do  it  any  more." 

"  Let  the  apples  go  now,  Oliver,  and  we 
will  thank  God  for  his  loving-kindness  to 
day."  Robert  laid  by  his  book  as  he  spoke, 
and  drew  the  large  Bible  towards  him.  "  Let 
us  sing  the  song  you  sang  to-night,  — 

*  Awake  my  soul,' "  &c. 

How  pleasantly  all  these  circumstances 
were  blended  with  Gilbert's  dreams  that 
night !  —  the  cosy  room  with  its  happy  com 
pany,  the  singing,  the  reading,  and  the 
prayer  that  was  like  a  song  of  praise.  In 


326  BOUNDBROOK; 

the  midst  of  it  all,  he  wandered  over  the 
wharves  again ;  went  to  his  old  home  where 
his  self-styled  parents  were,  and,  alas  !  when 
at  the  height  of  his  delight  in  getting  away 
from  them,  sinned  and  fell.  Then  there  was 
for  a  moment  the  image  of  a  little  child  pre 
sented  to  him ;  and  her  pure,  pitying  eyes 
made  him  cower  in  shame  and  despair.  He 
woke  to  be  thankful  that  he  had  not  this  to 
live  through  in  reality. 

Robert  found  a  room  the  next  day  for  Gil 
bert  not  far  from  their  own  home,  and  gave 
him  a  hearty  invitation  to  spend  his  evenings 
with  them.  "  You  shall  be  perfectly  free  to 
come  in  and  go  out  without  restraint,"  said 
lie,  "  as  if  you  were  one  of  us  ;  as  indeed  you 
are.  Make  our  little  home  yours,  Gilbert." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Bernhard ;  indeed  I 
do,"  returned  Gilbert  with  real  gratitude. 
"  I  will  try  to  be  a  man." 

"  God  will  help  you,"  was  the  warm  re- 


OT?,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        327 

sponse.  "  There  is  one  subject,  Gilbert, 
which  we  have  left  undiscussed  as  yet.  I 
refer  to  your  parents." 

"  But  they  were  not  my  parents,"  inter 
posed  Gilbert. 

"  You  ascertained  that  without  danger  of 
mistake  ?  " 

"  Yes,  fully." 

"  Were  they  relatives  ?  or  how  came  it  to 
pass  that  you  were  with  them  ?  " 

"  They  were  relatives.  Mr.  Marvin  I 
found  to  be  my  uncle,  and  that  I  had  had  a 
sister;  that  my  father  was  a  good,  indus 
trious  man,  and  my  mother  pretty  and  lady 
like.  Once  in  a  while,  it  seems  to  me  I  can 
almost  remember  her  ;  but  I  was  too  young 
to  be  able  to  recall  any  thing  distinctly." 

"  And  what  do  you  suppose  has  become  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marvin?" 

Gilbert  looked  away  from  Robert.  "I 
can  not  guess.  Probably  they  are  not 
living." 


328  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  They  are." 

"  Do  you  know  them  ?  "  with  a  start  of 
surprise. 

"My  daily  labor  among  the  poor  often 
leads  me  to  them.  They  are  in  the  same  old 
place." 

"  Is  it  possible,  Mr.  Bernhard  ?  " 

"  It  is  just  so.     Will  you  see  them  ?  " 

"  If  I  do,  they  will  expect  me  to  do  for 
them  ;  and  I  can  not."  His  tone  said,  I  will 
not.  "  Are  they  sick  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Marvin  is  very  feeble.  He  will  prob 
ably  not  live  long.  Mrs.  Marvin  is  much  the 
same." 

"Have  you  known  them  long?  Ever 
since  you  became  city  missionary  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  did  you  know  they  were  my  rela 
tives  ?  Did  they  ever  speak  of  me  ?" 

"Yes,  often.  And  I  think  they  really 
missed  you ;  not  your  help  only,  but  your 
company." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  329 

Gilbert's  lip  curled. 

"  Do  not  think  of  them  so,  Gilbert,"  said 
his  companion.  "  With  all  their  injustice  to 
you,  they  were  sometimes  kind,  —  as  kind, 
perhaps,  as  was  in  their  nature  to  be.  And 
you.  forgot  they  were  feeble  in  mind  and 
body  both." 

"  Feeble,  yes.  What  mind  had  they  ?  They 
nearly  drove  me  crazy  with  their  simple 
talk." 

"They  have  been  attended  to  carefully 
since  I  knew  them,"  Robert  resumed  pres 
ently  ;  "  and,  if  you  would  see  them,  there 
would  be  no  necessity  for  your  helping  them, 
unless  you  chose.  I  think  it  would  relieve 
their  minds  of  a  burden  in  regard  to  you,  if 
they  could  see  you  alive  and  well." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  the  young  man 
somewhat  coldly.  "  I  think  I  will  not  see 
them  at  present.  You  may  tell  them  —  but 
no,  you  need  not  mention  me  to  them  at  all." 


330  BOUNDBROOK. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Robert.  "  I  will  remem 
ber  your  wishes  ;  though  I  very  much  wish  I 
might  be  allowed  to  say  you  are  well.  Good- 
morning.  Remember  and  meet  with  us  this 
evening." 

They  went  in  opposite  directions.  "  He 
will  never  see  them  till  he  has  a  Christian 
feeling  toward  them,"  said  the  little  hunch 
back  to  himself  as  he  passed  slowly  down  the 
street.  "  Robert  Bernhard,  God  has  put  into 
your  hands  a  work  to  do  for  that  young  man. 
Bring  him  in,  with  your  Lord's  help." 


CHAPTER  XXV 


IN  THE  HIGHWAYS. 

RS.  RUSHTON  was  in  her  own  elegant 
room  one  morning,  at  work,  as  she 
expressed  it.  Sometimes  this  meant 
trifling  with  a  dainty  bit  of  embroidery, 
sometimes  tracing  a  pattern  from  "  Godey," 
sometimes  weaving  with  her  white  jeweled 
fingers  soft  threads  of  zephyr  into  intri 
cate  designs.  This  morning  it  was  the  lat 
ter. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.     "  Shall  I 
come  in,  mother  ?  "  said  Amy's  voice. 

"Yes,  if  you  like."     As  the  young  girl 
appeared,  she  exclaimed,  "  Amy  Rushton,  is 

331 


332  BOUNDBROOK; 

it  possible  you  are  dressed  to  go  out  in  that 
style?" 

"  Yes,  mother !  "  said  Amy,  amused  at  the 
lady's  look  of  dismay.  She  was  looking  par 
ticularly  bright  this  morning.  "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  You  will  disgrace  us,  child.  One  would 
think  your  father  wasn't  worth  more  than 
Mr.  Burton,  over  the  way,  to  see  you  out 
walking  with  a  dress  on  you've  worn  twice 
in  the  street  already." 

Amy  smiled,  remembering  that  Mr.  Burton 
was  accounted  very  wealthy  even  by  the 
wealthiest.  And  then  returned  to  the  sub 
ject  in  hand. 

"  I  think  it  looks  very  nicely,  mother.  It 
is  just  suitable  for  my  walk  this  morning." 

"Indeed!  are  you  going  down  to  the 
wharves,  as  you  used  to  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  But  I  mean  to  persuade  father 
to  take  me  there  with  him  some  day.  But 
now,  mother,"  she  was  standing  by  Mrs. 


OR,  AMY  KUSHTON'S  MISSION,  333 

Rushton's  chair,  and,  as  she  spoke,  leaned 
down  and  lightly  kissed  her,  "  I  want  to  beg 
something  of  you." 

"  Beg  ?  I  should  think  you  needed  to  by 
your  dress.  Do  go  and  put  on  your  silk 
suit." 

"  No,  excuse  me,  mamma,"  said  Amy  laugh 
ingly,  "  I  am  dressed  well  enough.  My  dress 
is  as  nice  as  if  I  had  not  worn  it  twice ;  and 
are  not  my  hat  and  boots  and  gloves  and  col 
lar  all  perfectly  neat,  and  in  good  taste  ?  " 

She  was  looking  so  bright  and  rosy  in  her 
pretty  attire,  elegant  enough  for  any  lady, 
that  even  Mrs.  Rushton  could  only  say  that 
she  was  all  right,  except  that  the  silk  suit 
would  look  so  much  more  like  Cummington 
Square. 

"  Well,  mamma,  Cummington  Square  may 
close  its  shutters,  and  not  look  at  me,  while  I 
pass  out  of  it,"  was  her  gay  response. 
"  Now,  will  you  grant  the  request  I  have  to 
make." 


334  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  child  ?  Theis,  I  was  so 
disturbed  about  your  dress,  I've  made  a  mis 
take  in  my  work  !  I'm  so  easily  overcome 
by  the  slightest  failure  in  such  matters. 
Father  used  to  say  my  taste  was  exquisite. 
Poor,  dear  father,  he  was  always  right  in  his 
judgment  of  me." 

"  Let  me  put  your  work  right,  mother," 
said  Amy,  as  soon  as  she  could  get  in  a  word. 

"  No,  child,  no !  What  was  it  you 
wanted?" 

"  Some  of  that  delicate  jelly  Maria  has : 
you  know  no  one  else  can  make  it  so  nicely. 
And  some  white  lilies  from  the  conservatory, 
and  Hamburgs  that  father  brought  home  last." 

"  Bless  me,  girl !  What  do  you  come  to  me 
for  such  things  for  ?  Do  get  whatever  yr  u 
want.  Who's  sick  ?  " 

"  Mary  Clay's  sister  Esther." 

"  So  you  are  going  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother.     I  thank  you  very  much. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  335 

Shall  I  always   take  what  I  want  without 
troubling  you?" 

"  Certainly.  Father  always  said  he  was 
so  glad  I  wasn't  stingy  about  such  things. 
Seems  to  me  you  must  have  naturally  rather 
a  parsimonious  spirit,  Amy  Rushton,  or  else 
those  country  friends  of  yours  taught  it  to 

you." 

A  deep  flush  mounted  to  Amy's  brow, 
otherwise  she  was  outwardly  unmoved. 

"  What  a  color  you  have,  Amy !  "  said  Mrs. 
Rushton,  glancing  up  at  her.  "  Don't  you 
use  any  of  that  alabaster  that  I  gave  you  for 
your  complexion  ?  It  really  needs  toning 
down." 

"  No,  mamma,"  said  Amy,  trying  not  to 
look  all  she  felt.  "I  like  my  rosy  cheeks 
best." 

"  They  are  not  at  all  the  thing.  But  there, 
go  away,  or  I  shall  be  making  more  mistakes. 
Oh !  I  wish  I  were  not  so  sensitive  in  matters 
of  taste." 


336  BOUNDBROOK; 

Amy  bade  her  good-morning,  and,  relieved 
to  find  herself  out  of  such  an  atmosphere, 
actually  ran  all  the  way  down  to  the  kitchen, 
surprising  the  worthy  who  presided  there 
with  her  request  for  jelly.  "  Only  one  glass 
of  it,  Mrs.  Gay,  please.  I  will  take  it  up 
stairs." 

"  You'll  not  carry  it  yourself,  miss,"  said 
the  woman.  "  Where  is  Ellen  ?  " 

"  She  is  busy,  Mrs.  Gay.  It  will  not  hurt 
me  to  take  it,  indeed !  Put  it  into  a  nice 
little  basket,  if  you  please.  There,  that  will 
do  exactly.  Thank  you  !  "  And  away  she 
ran. 

"  Dear  little  heart !  "  said  the  housekeeper 
to  one  of  the  servants  —  who  happened  to 
be  her  own  daughter  —  as  Amy's  light  figure 
disappeared.  "  There's  a  sweet  lady  without 
any  aristocratic  notions.  How  Mr.  Rushton 
has  kept  it  from  her  so  long  that  she  isn't  his 
daughter,  I  can't  imagine.  'T would  near 


07?,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        337 

kill  her  to  know  it,  she's  so  fond  of  him.  I 
wouldn't  be  the  means  of  her  finding  it 
out  for  any  thing.  And  mind  you,  Sarah, 
keep  your  own  counsel :  none  of  the  servants 
know  it  but  us." 

"  Indeed  I  will,  mother." 

Amy  called  Ellen  Spencer,  who  had  lived 
in  the  family  ever  since  she  came  from 
Boundbrook,  and  bade  her  make  ready  for  a 
walk.  Then  she  went  to  the  conservatory, 
gathered  her  lilies,  and  cut  a  few  other 
newly-opened  flowers  and  buds.  The  grapes 
and  jelly  she  gave  into  Ellen's  care.  Ellen 
was  a  girl  of  some  fifteen  years,  belonging 
to  the  family  which  Mr.  Ellery  had  once 
consigned  to  Amy's  watch  and  care  at 
Boundbrook.  She  was  a  slender  child,  pale 
and  spiritless  at  home ;  though  here  she  had 
brightened  into  something  like  activity. 
Shy  to  the  last  extreme,  she  had  apparently 
been  the  last  of  the  family  to  attach  herself 

23 


338  BOUNDBROOE; 

to  Amy ;  but,  the  barrier  of  reserve  once 
broken  through,  she  gave  her  whole  heart, 
and  clung  to  her  with  the  utmost  devotion. 

"  Miss  Amy,"  said  Ellen  as  they  left  the 
house  (the  children  had  always  called  her 
Miss  Amy  at  Boundbrook),  "  this  makes  me 
think  of  the  times  when  you  used  to  come 
to  our  house.  You  know,  when  I  was  sick, 
how  you  brought  me  jelly.  Are  we  going  to 
see  some  one  that  is  sick  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  a  girl  about  your  age ;  and  I 
think  she  is  somewhat  as  you  were,  and  yet 
not  as  you  were,  either." 

"  How,  Miss  Amy  ?  " 

"  You  shall  see  her  with  me,  and  perhaps 
you  can  tell." 

It  was  a  large,  handsome  residence  at 
which  they  stopped ;  and  a  neat  servant-girl 
answered  the  bell.  Conducting  them  up 
stairs,  she  halted  at  a  half-closed  door,  and 
announced,  "  Miss  Rushton." 


OK,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  339 

A  young  lady,  with  refined  face  and 
manners,  but,  to  Ellen's  partial  eye,  not 
nearly  so  lovely  as  Miss  Amy,  welcomed 
them  warmly,  and  led  the  way  through  the 
room  to  another  and  darker  apartment.  A 
young  girl  —  so  wasted  and  white  that  Ellen 
started  as  her  eyes  fell  on  her — sat,  propped 
up  by  pillows,  in  the  bed ;  her  dark  eyes 
lighting  up  with  joy  as  Amy  took  her  thin 
hand,  and  kissed  her. 

"  Don't  try  to  speak  now,  dear,"  said  Amy, 
caressing  the  little  outstretched  hand.  "  I 
can  guess  what  you  want  to  say.  You  shall 
talk  to  me  soon."  She  addressed  herself  to 
her  friend  Mary  for  a  moment,  and  then 
turned  to  the  sick  girl. 

"  "Well,  dear  Esther,  now  tell  me,"  said 
she,  smiling. 

"  I  am  very  much  better,"  said  the  girl 
slowly.  "  The  doctor  says  I've  only  to  get 
strong  now." 


340  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  That  is  good  news,  my  child.  And  I 
suppose  you've  been  thanking  the  dear  Lord 
ever  since." 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Esther,  "and  thanking 
him  more  because  he  sent  you  here  to  teach 
me  the  way  to  him." 

"  The  Lord  knows  how  to  do  his  work, 
dear  child  ;  if  not  by  one,  then  by  another. 
Do  not  think  of  me." 

The  sick  girl  was  silent,  looking  happily 
at  Amy  with  her  grateful,  dark  eyes.  Amy 
requested  Ellen  to  bring  the  basket ;  and, 
taking  from  it  a  bunch  of  delicate  white 
grapes,  she  laid  them,  with  a  beautiful 
creamy  lily,  in  Esther's  hand.  "  The  lily  is 
a  rare  one,  from  our  conservatory,"  she 
said.  "  Is  it  not  superb  ?  " 

**  It  is  perfect !  "  Esther's  eyes  were 
glowing.  "  Dear  Miss  Rushton,  you  know 
just  what  to  bring  me  always." 

"  When   I  gathered    it,"   said    Amy,    "  I 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  341 

thought  of  the  '  rose  of  Sharon  and  the 
lily  of  the  vale.'  But  you  must  not  talk 
more."  She  smoothed  the  pillows  Esther 
had  disarranged  in  her  excitement,  and  then 
she  bent  down  to  her. 

"  You  haven't  given  me  my  verse  to-day," 
whispered  Esther. 

" '  Unto  you  which  believe  He  is  pre 
cious,'  "  was  Amy's  soft  answer.  "  Good- 
by  for  to-day."  And  she  turned  and  went 
away,  followed  by  Mary. 

With  what  a  wistful  look  she  met  her  friend 
Mary's  eyes  as  they  were  parting  at  the 
door !  Ellen  did  not  understand  it ;  but  Mary 
both  saw  and  comprehended. 

"  I  could  bear  it  better  to  have  her  talk  to 
me,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  went  back  to 
her  sick  sister ;  "  but,  when  she  looks  at  me 
so,  I  can  not  stand  it."  She  went  to  the 
bedside  after  a  few  minutes'  conflict  with 
herself.  Esther  looked  up  with  a  radiant 


342  BOUNDBROOK. 

smile.     "  I  was  never  so  happy  in  all  my  life, 
Mary." 

Mary  knew  it.  "  I  will  see  if  this  contin 
ues  when  she  is  well,"  said  she  to  herself 
again.  But  when  Esther  grew  better,  and 
every  one  marked  the  change,  from  a  fretful 
child  to  the  patient  one,  from  the  listless  girl 
to  the  happy  Christian,  even  then  doubting 
Mary  said,  "  Let  us  wait  a  little  longer  still, 
till  she  is  well  enough  to  go  about,  and  see 
if  this  holds  out."  And  all  this  while,  Amy 
said  little  on  the  one  point  uppermost  in  both 
minds ;  but  her  tender,  wistful  eyes  spoke 
most  effectively  all  that  was  in  her  yearning 
heart. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


IN  THE  BY-WAYS. 

RE  we  going  home  now?"  Ellen 
asked  as  they  moved  down  the 
street. 

Not  yet,  Ellen :  I  have  two  more  calls  to 
make.  This  time  we  will  go  to  the  poor 
people." 

"  Why,  Miss  Amy,  do  you  go  about  here 
just  as  you  used  to  at  Boundbrook  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,  Ellen,"  said  Amy,  smiling  at 
the  surprise  in  Ellen's  face.  "  Why  do  you 
wonder,  little  girl  ?  " 

"  Because  —  because  —  you  are  so  rich 
here.  But  then  I  don't  wonder,  when  I 

843 


344  BOUNDBROOK ; 

think  how  you  liked  to  do  it  there.  I  wish 
you'd  let  me  go  with  you  before,  Miss  Amy." 

"  Do  you  ?  then  you  shall  go  often.  But 
the  long  walks  I  take  sometimes  would  be 
too  much  for  you." 

"  No,  they  wouldn't ;  not  with  you,  Miss 
Amy.  And  I'm  getting  real  strong,"  cried 
Ellen  with  more  enthusiasm  than  Amy  had 
ever  seen  in  her  manner. 

"  This  is  the  way,"  said  Amy,  as  a  few 
turns  brought  them  to  a  narrow,  dingy  street, 
down  which  they  went  a  few  steps,  and 
turned  into  a  doorway. 

There  was  a  stairway  to  climb,  and  another 
and  another,  till  Ellen  wondered  if  the  peo 
ple  lived  on  the  roof,  they  seemed  to  be 
going  so  far  up.  But  just  here  Amy  stopped, 
and,  opening  a  door  a  little  way,  said,  "Shall 
I  come  in,  Mrs.  Fanning  ?  " 

"  Come  in ! "  said  a  voice  from  the  farther 
corner  of  the  room. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  345 

They  went  in,  and  found  a  man  occupying 
an  arm-chair,  with  one  bandaged  limb  sup 
ported  on  a  stool.  "  My  wife  is  out,  miss," 
he  said  in  a  respectful,  pleased  tone.  — 
"  Would  you  find  a  chair  for  the  lady,  little 
girl?  I  can  not  rise  to  do  it." 

Ellen  found  a  chair ;  and,  having  satisfied 
herself  that  it  was  perfectly  clean,  placed  it 
for  Amy,  and  withdrew  to  the  window  at 
the  other  end  of  the  apartment. 

Every  thing  was  neat  there,  though  very 
poor ;  and  on  the  mantle  was  a  bunch  of 
hot-house  violets,  such  as  boys  sell  in  the 
streets  in  the  late  winter  season.  Amy's 
eyes  caught  sight  of  them  also,  and  delighted 
the  man  with  her  pleased  exclamation,  "  Oh, 
how  beautiful ! " 

"They're  very  pretty,  miss,"  said  he. 
"  My  little  Will,  who  sells  papers  in  the 
street,  brought  them  home  to  me  last  night. 
But  they're  not  sweet,  like  the  violets  in 


346  BOUNDBROOE; 

England,  that  I  used  to  pluck  when  I  was  a 
boy.  Ah,  those  were  rare  days !  " 

"  How  is  the  broken  limb  to-day,  Mr. 
Fanning?"  inquired  Amy,  taking,  as  she 
spoke,  a  glass  from  the  table,  and  placing 
her  remaining  flowers  in  it. 

"  Better,  thank  you,  miss ;  because  the 
day  is  bright.  When  the  sun  shines,  I  am 
quite  free  from  pain." 

"  Yes.  God's  sunshine  seems  made  on 
purpose  for  our  health  as  well  as  pleasure ; 
doesn't  it?  "  observed  Amy.  "  And  here's  a 
blossom  that  looks  as  if  all  the  glory  of  the 
sunshine  were  gathered  into  it.  Did  you  ever 
see  this  in  England,  Mr.  Fanning  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  it  there  only  in  greenhouses, 
miss,  and  rare  at  that.  Being  a  gardener,  I 
know  nearly  all  plants  common  in  the  country. 
Oh !  if  my  poor  leg  will  but  knit  soon,  and 
be  strong,  so  that  I  can  be  at  work  at  my 
trade.  I  can  never  be  happy  but  among  my 


OJ?,   AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  347 

flowers.  And  to  think  this  should  be  my 
lot  as  soon  as  I  landed  here;  and  the  poor 
mother  and  son  have  to  work  so  hard  for  me ! 
It  is  very  trying." 

" '  He  leads  us  by  ways  we  know  not,  and 
by  paths  that  we  have  not  known,' "  said 
Amy  trustfully. 

"  You're  too  good,  dear  miss,  to  come  and 
do  for  us  who  are  so  much  beneath  you," 
was  the  man's  remark  in  reply.  "  I  count  it 
a  great  honor  to  welcome  you  here." 

"  Don't,  Mr.  Fanning,"  said  Amy  humbly, 
and  rising  to  go.  "  I  count  it  a  blessing  to 
be  able  to  do  a  little  in  this  way.  You  might 
have  a  wonderful  Guest  here  with  you  all 
the  time,  Mr.  Fanning,  if  you  would  only 
open  your  hearts  to  let  him  in." 

"Ah!  "  said  the  man  evasively. 

"  Just  as  you  open  your  blinds  to  let  in 
the  sunshine,"  Amy  added ;  "  and  then 
every  thing  would  seem  to  work  together 


348  BOUNDBROOK ; 

for  good  to  you.  I  must  go  now  ;  "  and  she 
took  Ms  poor  hard  hand.  "  Won't  you  let 
in  this  wonderful  Guest  who  is  waiting,  Mr. 
Fanning  ?  "  She  did  not  expect  an  answer ; 
and  he  gave  none,  but  only  repeated,  "  You 
are  too  good." 

Amy  and  Ellen  went  out. 

"  Miss  Amy,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  go  to  these  places  alone." 

"  I  never  have,  dear,  not  here.  I  have  a 
friend  —  a  young  lady,  who  is  away  now  — 
who  comes  with  me." 

"  Because,"  continued  Ellen,  "  I  remember 
Mr.  Ellery  was  never  willing  you  should  go 
to  our  part  of  Boundbrook  alone  ;  and  I'm 
sure  it  is  just  as  bad  here.  Where  shall  we 
go  next,  Miss  Amy?"  she  inquired,  after 
they  had  walked  quite  a  distance  in  silence. 

"  This  way,  Ellen."  Amy  turned  up  a 
small  court,  —  a  nice,  respectable-looking 
place,  —  and  paused  at  a  door  on  which  was 
painted  "  Orphans'  Home." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.  349 

"Well,  what  now?"  thought  Ellen,  as 
they  passed  in  without  ringing.  "  Is  Miss 
Amy  going  to  adopt  these  orphans?  " 

For,  as  they  stood  inside  the  door,  a  troop 
of  small  children  —  boys  and  girls,  very 
neatly  but  poorly  clothed  —  rushed  upon 
her,  crying  joyously,  "  O  Miss  Rushton, 
Miss  Rushton ! "  She  let  them  kiss  her, 
every  one,  and  returned  their  kisses  gayly. 

"  How  can  she  ? "  thought  Ellen,  con 
trasting  Amy's  attire  —  which  looked  very 
elegant  here  —  with  the  scanty  calico  and 
woolen  dresses.  "  They  have  nice-looking 
faces,  though.  All  orphans,  I  suppose.  Poor 
little  things  !  That  is  worse  than  to  be  as  I 
have  been." 

While  these  reflections  were  occupying 
Ellen's  mind,  Amy  had  gently  disengaged 
herself  from  the  children  ;  and  now,  beckon 
ing  Ellen  to  follow,  went  up  stairs,  and 
through  a  long  entry,  to  the  "hospital." 
Ellen  knew  this  by  the  name  on  the  door. 


350  BOUNDBROOE; 

"  There  are  so  many  children  here,"  said 
Amy,  before  gcing  in,  "that  there  are  often 
several  sick;  but  there  is  but  one  ill  now, 
—  a  dear  little  boy  six  or  seven  years  old.  I 
have  come  to  see  him  to-day." 

The  room  was  a  long  one,  extending  the 
width  of  the  house,  from  one  court  to 
another,  with  wide  windows  at  each  end. 
At  the  sides,  with  their  heads  to  the  wall, 
were  several  white-dressed  beds,  large  enough 
for  one  person,  with  sufficient  space  between 
their  feet  for  one  to  pass  comfortably.  Most 
of  these  beds  were  unoccupied ;  but  down  at 
the  farther  end,  where  the  sunshine  lay  the 
brightest,  was  one  over  which  the  nurse  was 
bending. 

"  Here  is  Miss  Rushton,  Johnny,"  she 
said,  looking  up  as  Amy  and  Ellen  advanced. 
"  Do  you  want  to  see  her  ?  " 

The  child  made  no  reply,  except  that  a 
sudden  glow  came  into  his  little  face,  and  he 


OR,  AMY  RUSUTON'S  MISSION.  351 

lifted  up  his  hands  to  her.  The  nurse  gave 
Amy  a  low  chair,  wrapped  a  warm  blanket 
about  Johnny,  and,  taking  him  up,  put  him 
in  her  arms.  For  a  few  minutes  he  nestled 
down  close  to  her  as  if  that  were  happiness 
enough,  looking  up  into  her  dear,  loving 
face  with  unnaturally  bright  eyes. 

"  Dear  little  Johnny,"  said  Amy,  kissing 
him  softly.  "  Is  he  worse  to-day,  nurse  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not.  He  has  been  asking 
for  you  this  morning." 

"  Bring  me  the  grapes  and  jelly,  Ellen. 
There,  Johnny !  "  She  held  up  a  small  clus 
ter  between  him  and  the  sunlight.  The 
little  boy  looked  at  it  with  a  childish  smile 
of  pleasure,  and  up  at  her,  but  nestled  against 
her  again  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  You  will  find  some  jelly  for  him  in  the 
basket,  nurse,"  said  Amy.  "  What  do  you 
want  me  to  do  for  you,  Johnny  ?  " 

"  Sing,  please,"  he  whispered. 


352  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Yes,  darling."  She  went  through  a 
simple  little  hymn ;  and  his  eyes  watched 
every  movement  of  her  lips  till  it  was 
finished.  "  What  now,  Johnny?  " 

"  Story,  please."  She  thought  a  min 
ute  (for  Johnny  had  drawn  on  her  stock 
of  stories  for  some  weeks),  and  began, 
"  There  was  a  man  once,  Johnny,  who 
thought  he  would  like  to  make  children 
happy,  —  little  children,  like  you,  whose 
dear  fathers  and  mothers  had  died.  He 
often  saw  them  running  about  in  the  streets, 
with  nobody  at  home  to  see  that  they  were 
kept  nice  and  clean  ;  no  one  to  dress  them 
for  school,  and  comb  their  hair ;  no  one  to 
care  if  they  hurt  themselves,  and  came  in 
crying ;  no  one  to  take  them  up  in  their 
arms,  and  kiss  them,  and  talk  to  them,  and 
sing  little  songs  that  they  liked  to  hear ;  and 
no  one  to  tell  them  about  the  dear  Christ 
who  used  to  bless  the  little  ones. 


OK,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  353 

"  This  good  man  said,  '  I  will  make  a 
home  for  these  children.'  So  he  had  a 
nice  place  made  ready  for  them  ;  and  one 
after  another  canie  to  live  in  it.  Many 
of  them  went  out,  after  a  while,  to  nice 
homes  that  he  found  for  them.  One  little 
child  was  lonesome  and  shy,  and  seemed  to 
want  to  sit  by  himself,  and  watch  the  other 
children,  instead  of  playing  with  them.  I 
think  it  was  because  he  was  not  well ;  for 
after  a  while  he  grew  weak  and  sick :  now 
he  likes  best  to  lie  in  the  bed,  and  some 
times  have  a  friend  take  him  in  her  arms, 
as  I  do  Johnny." 

"  Why,"  whispered  Johnny,  "  it  is  me  !  " 

"  So  it  is,  Johnny,"  pressing  her  lips 
softly  to  his  brow.  "  Are  you  too  tired  to 
hear  more  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Johnny  says,  sometimes  his  dear  mamma 
used  to  lie  on  her  bed  so,  before  she  went 


354  BCFNDBROOK; 

away.  Does  that  make  him  patient  to  lie 
here,  thinking  of  mother  ?  " 

He  smiled  up  at  her  feebly.  "  Shall  I  go 
away  too  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  If  God  wants  Johnny, 
he  will  take  him." 

"Shall  I  be  afraid?" 

"  No,  I  think  not.  Who  will  take  care 
of  Johnny,  if  he  goes  ?  " 

"  Jesus,"  he  whispered. 

"  Then  you  need  not  be  afraid,  darling.  I 
think,  perhaps,  if  you  should  go  soon,  it  will 
be  some  time  when  you  go  to  sleep.  You 
will  only  shut  your  eyes,  and  wake  up  with 
the  dear  Saviour  and  mamma." 

"  I  wish  I  could  find  you  there  too." 

"  I  shall  come,"  she  replied,  her  tears 
falling.  "  Now  I  will  sing  once  more,  and 
then  put  Johnny  in  bed  till  I  see  him  again." 

She  sang  to  him  till  ke  was  asleep,  and, 
after  seeing  his  pleasant  little  face  quietly 
resting  on  the  pillow,  went  away  with  Ellen. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  355 

Ellen  scarcely  spoke  till  they  reached 
home.  As  she  took  Amy's  hat  to  lay  away, 
Amy  asked,  kindly  drawing  the  girl  to  her 
side,  "  Do  you  want  to  go  again,  Ellen  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  did  at  first,  Miss  Amy ;  but 
it  was  so  sad  to  see  Johnny."  Her  lips  quiv 
ered.  "  How  can  you  go  where  everybody 
is  sick  ?  "  she  asked. 

Amy  did  not  answer  immediately. 

"  Isn't  it  ever  hard  for  you,  Miss  Amy  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  often,  Ellen,  very  hard.  But 
I  want  to  be  about  my  Master's  work  while 
I  can.  He  went  among  the  poor  and  the 
friendless  :  why  should  not  the  least  of  his 
children  follow  where  he  led  the  way  ?  You 
are  beginning  to  know  enough  of  the  Chris 
tian  life  to  know  that  we  all  have  a  mission, 
dear  child." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Amy.  But  it  does  not  seem 
as  if  this  was  yours,"  she  added  respect- 
fully. 


356  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Why  not,  Ellen  ?  Can  you  find  any 
good  reason  ?  " 

Ellen  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  No,  Miss 
Amy,  I  can't.  But  you  will  always  take  me 
to  Mr.  Fanning's  when  you  haven't  any  one 
else  to  go  with  you  ;  won't  you  ?  " 

Amy  said  "  yes,"  to  her  great  relief,  —  for 
the  girl  seemed  to  feel  that  she  must  watch 
over  her  safety,  —  and  left  her. 

"  If  I  could  only  be  such  a  Christian  as 
Miss  Amy !  "  said  Ellen  with  a  sigh  as  she 
went  about  her  duties.  "  I  suppose  I've  a 
mission  to  do  something.  I  can  help  her 
about  hers  till  I  find  out  what  it  is.  Now  I 
understand  what  she  does  with  the  dresses 
she's  done  wearing  —  except  what  she  gives 
me.  They  go  to  that  Orphans'  Home.  I 
wonder  if  she  wouldn't  let  me  make  some  of 
them  over  for  them.  I'm  glad  I  am  begin 
ning  to  sew  nicely." 

She  stood  with  her  work  suspended  in  her 


OK,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  357 

hands,  so  absoi  bed  was  she  in  thought,  when 
Amy  entered  for  something.  With  more 
enthusiasm  than  Amy  had  ever  seen  in  her, 
she  unfolded  her  plans,  and  asked,  "  Did  I 
_guess  right  about  the  dresses  ?  " 

"  Yes,  child,"  said  Amy,  amused  at  her 
rapid  speech.  "  And  we  will  go  to  work 
directly  to  make  one  ;  for  they  are  always  in 
need  there.  But,  Ellen,  have  you  thought  in 
what  respect  Esther  is  not  as  you  were  when 
you  were  sick  ?  " 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  know.  I  was  so 
peevish  and  cross  !  " 

"  Could  you  bear  a  sickness  like  that  better 
now,  Ellen?" 

"I  think  I  could,  Miss  Amy,"  EUen 
answered  humbly  and  gratefully,  "  since 
you  taught  me  how  to  put  all  my  crossness 
and  fretfulness  into  Christ's  hands." 

"  Not  since  /taught  you,  dear.  Only  the 
Spirit  of  God  can  teach  us  that  fully." 


358 


BOUNDBROOK. 


"I  know,  Miss  Amy,"  was  Ellen's  earnest 
reply  ;  "  but  it  came  through  you." 

"  He  works  by  whom  he  will,  dear  child  ; 
and  he  will  work  by  you  if  you  lovingly 
accept  your  mission,  which  is  just  like  mine, 
—  *  Do  what  you  can.'  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

TEMPTATION   AND   PALL. 

[NE  evening  Gilbert  did  not  come  as 
usual  to  spend  the  hours  with  the 
Bernhards.  It  was  but  a  step  across 
the  street  to  the  house  where  he  lodged ;  and, 
after  waiting  till  half-past  eight,  Robert  went 
over  and  sought  him  at  his  room.  It  was 
locked,  and  he  was  not  there. 

With  some  apprehension  they  awaited  his 
coming  the  evening  following ;  but  no  Gil 
bert  came.  In  the  morning  Robert  went  to 
the  store  where  he  worked.  He  was  out,  but 
expected  in  directly. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  came  in ;  and  not 

350 


360  BOUNDBROOK; 

noticing  Robert,  and  finding  nothing  to  do 
just  at  that  moment,  sat  down  upon  a  bale 
of  goods.  Robert  went  to  him,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  shoulder.  The  young  man 
started,  his  eyes  went  down,  and  a  painful 
flush  overspread  his  countenance. 

"  We  have  missed  you,  Gilbert,"  said  his 
friend. 

Gilbert  had  no  answer. 

But  Robert  had  not  come  to  have  a  con 
versation  with  him ;  and  after  adding  a  few 
kind  words,  and  expressing  the  hope  that  he 
would  not  remain  away  again,  would  have 
gone  away  ;  but  Gilbert  detained  him. 

"  I  may  as  well  out  with  it,"  said  he  des 
perately.  "  Some  fellows  got  hold  of  me. 
They  found  my  room,  and  made  me  go  out  to 
drink." 

"  O  Gilbert!  "  said  Robert ;  and  his  face  as 
well  as  his  words  showed  how  deeply  he  was 
pained. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  361 

"Don't  speak  that  way,"  said  Gilbert. 
"  Hate  me  as  I  hate  myself ;  despise  me ; 
curse  rne  !  " 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Robert  authoritatively:  "  do 
not  dare  to  talk  so  !  You  are  made  in  God's 
image,  and  have  no  more  right  to  curse  your 
self  than  I  have  to  do  it." 

"I  am  not  fit  to  breathe,"  returned 
Gilbert. 

"  Granting  that  to  be  true,"  answered  his 
friend,  "  yet  God  gives  you  breath.  Why  is 
it?" 

The  young  man  divined  his  meaning,  but 
gave  no  answer. 

"  '  He  will  regard  the  prayer  of  the  desti 
tute,  and  not  despise  their  prayers,'  "  quoted 
Robert  presently.  "  There  is  encouragement 
for  you  from  his  own  word  of  truth.  What 
did  he  say  to  those  who  came  to  him  for 
healing?  'Go,  and  sin  no  more.'  Oh,  my 
dear  Gilbert !  "  continued  he,  "  you  have  not 


362  BOUNDBROOK; 

gone  to  him.  You  are  trying  to  take  steps 
toward  good  all  in  your  own  strength.  You 
are  weak  and  discouraged ;  and  so  you  will  be 
till  you  lay  hold  on  One  that  is  mighty." 

Gilbert  sat  with  his  face  in  his  hands,  j 

"How  did  these  fellows  find  you  out?" 
asked  Robert  after  a  while. 

"  They  followed  me  to  my  room.  I  could 
not  help  myself." 

"  Did  you  face  round  upon  them  manfully, 
and  tell  them  you  would  not  yield  ?  " 

"  No :  I  meant  to  ;  but  they  were  too  much 
for  me." 

"  You  did  not  mean  it,"  said  Robert  em 
phatically.  "  And  this  has  gone  on  these  last 
two  evenings,  has  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Gilbert,"  said  Robert  suddenly,  "  why 
can't  you  be  spared  from  the  store  a  short 
time?  You  are  not  busy  here  to-day,  I 
see." 


- 


AMY"    KUSHTOX'S    MISSION*.       See  page  3«3. 


OR,  AMY  RUSIITOX'S  MISSION.  363 

"  I  could  leave  for  an  hour,  I  think." 
"  Go  and  ask  leave,  and  come  with  me." 
He  did  so,  and  the  two  left  the  store.  By 
quick  walking,  and  riding  in  a  street-car,  they 
soon  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  a  building 
which  Gilbert  well  knew  was  the  state- 
prison.  Here  Robert  and  his  young  com 
panion  easily  obtained  entrance,  and  were 
accompanied  to  a  cell  in  the  rear  of  the  build 
ing  by  the  turnkey,  who  admitted  them, 
and  left  them  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
visit  the  inmate.  He  was  a  man  of  some 
thirty  years  of  age,  wasted  and  hollow-eyed. 
His  figure,  as  he  stood  by  the  little  barred 
window  from  which  he  had  been  looking, 
seemed  to  Gilbert  to  have  once  been  noble 
and  muscular.  He  looked  up  indifferently 
as  his  visitors  entered ;  but  his  countenance 
changed  on  seeing  who  Robert  was,  and  he 
came  forward  quickly. 

"  How   do   you   do   to-day,  my   friend  ?  " 


364  BOUNDBPOOK; 

Robert  gave  him  his  hand  as  he  spoke.  The 
man  grasped  it  eagerly. 

"  Well,"  he  replied  in  a  low,  weak  voice  ; 
"  as  well  as  I  can  be.  You  did  not  forget  I 
wanted  you  to  come  again  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  forget,"  Robert  replied.  "  I 
have  thought  too  much  about  you  for  that." 

The  man  gave  a  deep  sigh,  which  was 
almost  like  a  groan,  and  sat  down  as  if 
weary,  on  his  iron  bedstead,  motioning 
Robert  and  Gilbert  to  do  the  same.  In  a 
moment  he  looked  up,  and  asked,  referring  to 
Gilbert,  "  Who  is  this  ?  " 

"  A  young  friend  of  mine,"  replied  Robert, 
"whom  I  take  the  liberty  to  bring.  He  has 
known  something  of  temptation,  and  finds  it 
hard  to  resist." 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  prisoner,  and  the 
expression  of  his  hollow  eyes  was  fearfully 
sad,  "  stop  yielding  to  temptation  just  where 
you  are  to-day.  No  matter  how  far  you 


OR,  AMY  BUSHTON'S  MISSION.  365 

have  gone,  you  are  still  free.  Stop  !  Oh,  if 
I  had  done  so  when  I  might !  I  allowed  my 
self  to  fall  into  the  pit.  My  own  fault ;  all 
my  own !  " 

He  shook  his  head,  muttering,  "  My  own 
fault ;  my  own  fault !  " 

"  My  friend,"  said  Robert  cheerfully, 
"  what  can  I  do  for  you  to-day  ?.  Do  you 
see  any  more  clearly  the  way  to  God  through 
Christ  ?  Do  you  find  any  light  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  was  the  reply,  "  a  little,  as  I 
get  now  and  then  a  bit  of  sunlight  through 
that  window.  But  my  heart  seems  all  barred 
up  like  that.  And  the  light  goes  so 
quickly ! " 

"  But  His  love  can  melt  away  all  the  bars 
round  your  heart,  my  friend.  Only  keep 
praying  for  it,  and  expecting  it.  He  will 
send  light  as  fast  as  you  are  prepared  for  it. 
Now  shall  I  give  you  some  of  his  words  to 
think  of,  —  just  a  verse  here  and  there  ?  " 


366  BOUNDBROOE; 

Robert  took  a  little  worn  Bible  from  his 
pocket,  and  read,  — 

"  '  Hear  my  prayer,  O  Lord !  and  let  my 
cry  come  before  thee. 

" '  Hide  not  thy  face  from  me  in  the  day 
when  I  am  in  trouble ;  incline  thine  ear  unto 
me ;  in  the  day  when  I  call,  answer  me 
speedily.' 

"  That  was  David's  prayer  of  complaint ; 
now  hear  his  song  of  thankfulness  after 
wards. 

"  '  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  forget 
not  all  his  benefits ;  who  forgiveth  all  thine 
iniquities  ;  who  healeth  all  thy  diseases. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  * 

"  '  The  Lord  is  merciful  and  gracious,  slow 
to  anger,  and  plenteous  in  mercy. 

•          •••••• 

"  '  He  hath  not  dealt  with  us  after  our  sins, 
nor  rewarded  us  according  to  our  iniqui 
ties.' 


OB,  AMY  PUSHTON'S  MISSION.  367 

"  There  is  enough  for  you  to  remember, 
my  friend,"  said  Robert,  closing  the  book : 
"  David's  complaint  in  trouble,  and  his  recog 
nition  of  God's  loving-kindness.  Press  for 
ward  to  the  light ;  for,  as  surely  as  you  find  a 
little,  you  shall  find  more.  '  Christ  came  to 
proclaim  liberty  to  the  captives,  and  the 
opening  of  the  prison  to  them  that  are 
bound.' " 

The  turnkey  opened  the  door  ;  and  with  a 
kind  good-by  they  were  gone,  and  the  pris 
oner  was  left  to  his  solitary  meditations. 

"  What  is  that  man  confined  for  ?  "  asked 
Gilbert  after  they  had  gone  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  prison. 

"  For  complicity  in  a  murder.  He  has  been 
there  two  years;  and  though  I  have  occa 
sionally  visited  him,  and  at  his  own  request, 
he  is  just  beginning  to  be  willing  to  listen  to 
me.  A  few  weeks  since,  he  confessed  to  his 
share  in  the  crime." 


368  EOUNDBROOE; 

"  What  led  to  the  murder  ?  ". 

"I  do  not  know  all  the  circumstances ; 
but,  primarily,  what  led  to  it  was  the  use  of 
strong  drink." 

Gilbert  asked  no  more ;  and  in  not  many 
minutes  after  they  halted  at  the  store. 

"  May  I  come  to  see  you  this  evening  ?  " 
said  Robert.  "  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you." 

"  Yes,  do  come,  Mr.  Bernhard." 

Evening  came,  and  found  the  two  sitting 
together  in  Gilbert's  little  plainly-furnished 
room.  "  Let  us  proceed  to  my  story  at 
once,"  Robert  said  after  they  had  talked  a 
minute  upon  other  matters. 

"  When  I  was  quite  a  lad  in  years,  though 
not  in  size,  I  lived  in  the  town  of  Stock- 
well." 

"  You  did  ?  "  said  Gilbert,  starting.  "  Why, 
are  you  the  one?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  remember  a  man  there  pos 
sessed  of  some  property,  in  a  fair  business, 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  369 

and  altogether  well  started  in  the  world.  I 
will  call  him  Clark.  He  was  married,  and 
with  his  wife  lived  in  a  pretty  house  in  the 
village.  Gradually  his  business  began  to 
increase.  As  his  means  grew  greater,  he 
began  to  make  foolish  expenditures.  Now 
it  was  some  dainty  for  the  table,  now  an 
article  of  costly  furniture,  now  some  bit  of 
jewelry  for  himself  or  his  wife,  then  a  car 
riage  and  horses.  But  his  business,  as  yet, 
did  not  warrant  any  such  outlay.  His 
wife  was  indolent  and  childish.  She  wasted 
much  that  was  brought  into  the  house,  and 
squandered  money  foolishly  in  other  ways. 
The  upshot  of  it  all  was,  that  the  man  failed. 
His  creditors  seized  upon  all  there  was  to  be 
had,  and  despondency  seized  upon  him. 

u  Now  was  the  time  when  he  ought  to  have 
rallied,  and  might  have.  He  gave  himself  up, 
saying,  '  I  can't :  I've  no  power  to  rise.' 
His  wife  settled  down  into  a  stupid,  apathetic 

24 


370  BOUNDBROOK; 

state,  and  made  the  worst  of  the  little  home 
they  had  taken  refuge  in.  He  fell  into  bad 
company,  and  took  to  drink  to  drown  the 
thought  of  his  troubles.  From  their  small 
home,  they  went  to  one  still  less  inviting,  and 
then  to  another,  till  they  lived  in  a  miserable 
old  tenement  out  from  the  village.  There 
were  those  who  would  have  helped  them ;  but 
they  were  proud  in  all  their  poverty,  and  re 
fused  to  rouse  themselves  to  any  purpose. 

"  Just  before  Mr.  Clark's  loss  of  property, 
there  had  been  sent  to  him  a  young  son  of 
his  brother,  who  was  poor,  and,  having  re 
ceived  some  severe  injury,  was  unable  to 
provide  for  his  family.  This  boy  I  often  saw, 
though  many  years  younger  than  myself,  and 
knew  that  he  received  much  ill  treatment  at 
the  hands  of  his  uncle  and  aunt.  He  proved 
himself  to  be  of  a  noble  disposition  in  one 
thing  which  won  my  regard  for  him  ;  and  I 
have  tried  to  keep  trace  of  him  ever  since. 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  was  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  371 

Gilbert  was  sitting  with  his  elbow  on  the 
table,  shading  his  face  with  one  hand  from  the 
rays  of  the  lamp.  "  If  you  please,  Mr. 
Bernhard,"  he  said  quietly. 

"I  was  a  frail  little  hunchback  then," 
resumed  Robert,  "  as  now.  Going  one  day 
by  Mr.  Clark's  house,  a  pack  of  rude  boys 
came  upon  me,  and  tormented  me  in  every 
way  their  evil  minds  could  suggest.  At 
length,  seeing  a  donkey  feeding  at  a  little 
distance,  they  sent  one  of  their  number  for 
it,  and  were  about  to  put  me  on  its  back. 
In  fact,  they  did  succeed  so  far  that  the 
donkey  kicked,  and  I  was  thrown  from  the 
boys'  arms  to  the  ground.  This  young 
nephew  of  Mr.  Clark's,  though  a  small  boy, 
and  years  younger  than  I,  had  stood  by,  but 
had  not  joined  with  the  boys  in  their  rude 
ness.  Seeing  me  fall,  he  ran,  and,  pushing 
away  the  boys  with  all  his  strength,  he 
picked  me  up,  and  carried  me  away  from 


372  4      BOUNDBROOK; 

them.  I  was  just  bewildered  enough  not  to 
be  able  to  resist,  but  soon  came  to  myself. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  brave  indignation 
with  which  that  young  lad  defended  me,  and 
kept  his  position  against  the  rude  fellows 
who  gathered  about.  My  feeling  of  grati 
tude  to  him  for  the  stand  he  took  in  my 
behalf  has  always  been  mingled  with  an 
appreciation  of  the  noble-heartedness  of  the 
act. 

"  The  injury  I  had  received  in  my  weak 
state  was  sufficient  to  bring  on  a  severe  ill 
ness,  during  which  time  I  lost  sight  of  the 
bojr,  and  his  uncle  and  aunt,  or,  as  they 
styled  themselves,  his  parents.  When  I  re 
covered,  they  were  gone. 

"  Afterward,  in  my  walks  about  this  city, 
I  came  upon  them  in  a  miserable  tenement- 
house  in  one  of  the  worst  streets  of  the 
city.  They  were  worse  off  than  ever.  The 
man  was  partially  helpless  from  a  stroke  of 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  373 

paralysis,  and  growing  imbecile.  The  wife 
was  much  as  ever.  But  it  was  the  use  of 
intoxicating  liquor  that  had  led  to  this  abject 
state." 

"  But  what  about  the  boy  ?  "  asked  Gil 
bert,  still  with  face  averted. 

"  The  boy  I  found  they  were  abusing 
somewhat ;  and  gradually  I  persuaded  them 
to  leave  off  drinking,  in  a  measure,  and  to 
treat  him  better.  At  my  request  they  kept 
the  fact  of  my  having  found  them  unknown 
to  him,  as  I  wished  to  make  his  acquaintance 
myself  in  another  way. 

"  One  day  I  found  him  at  the  wharves. 
I  intended,  after  seeing  him  a  few  times," 
Robert  continued,  "  to  acquaint  him  some 
what  with  his  true  history ;  but  he  suddenly 
slipped  away  from  me,  and  I  saw  no  more  of 
him  till  a  few  weeks  since." 

"  I  have  returned  your  kind  care  very 
basely,"  said  Gilbert  now,  in  a  rather  broken 


374  BOUNDBROOK; 

voico,  which  he  strove  to  steady.  "  It  is 
strange  you  have  taken  any  interest  in  me  at 
all.  But  you  know  nothing  of  the  little  girl, 
my  sister  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  I  lost  sight  of  you  all  during 
the  time  I  was  sick,  which  was  several 
months ;  and  even  you  do  not  remember 
any  thing  connected  with  her,  you  say." 

"  No,  nothing.  I  remember  they  did  not 
bring  me  with  them  to  the  city  at  first ;  but  I 
was  sent  along  afterwards.  But,  Mr.  Bern- 
hard,  surely  you  know.  Have  they  never 
spoken  of  her  ?  " 

"  Be  that  as  .it  may,"  returned  Robert 
evasively,  "it  is  possible  you  have  a  sister 
somewhere.  Make  yourself  worthy  of  her, 
whether  the  time  shall  ever  come  for  you  to 
know  her  or  not.  If  she  should  prove  to  be 
pure-hearted  and  lovely,  be  such  a  man  as 
she  will  be  proud  to  own  as  her  brother." 

"  Mr.  Bernhard,"  said  Gilbert,  "  I  thank 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  375 

you  for  this  story.  It's  my  nature,  like  my 
uncle's,  I  know,  to  be  extravagant,  and  easily 
set  up,  and  discouraged  as  well.  I  have 
despised  him  ;  and  yet  I  am  as  bad  myself." 
He  paused  a  minute.  "-You  know  some 
thing  of  my  sister,  Mr.  Bernhard,  I  see  you 
do ;  but  I  will  ask  no  questions.  I  do  not 
want  to  know  her  as  I  am.  Perhaps  I  may 
come  to  be  more  worthy  of  her." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 


TEMPTATION  AND  VICTORY. 

GAIN  Gilbert  yielded  to  the  tempta 
tion  of  the  cup,  and  was  even  enticed, 
under  its  influence,  to  the  very  en 
trance  of  a  gambling-hall ;  but  here  his  soul 
revolted  as  the  memory  of  that  last  night  he 
had  spent  in  such  a  place  came  over  him. 
Breaking  away  from  his  evil  companions,  he 
turned  with  disgust  from  the  door,  and  this 
time,  in  spite  of  their  jeers  and  scornful 
laughter,  left  them,  and  went  as  rapidly  as 
his  unsteady  feet  would  carry  him  toward 
home. 

In  his  bewilderment,  he  found  himself  at 

376 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  377 

Robert  Bernlmrd's  door,  instead  of  his  own ; 
and,  before  he  could  get  away,  Robert  came 
out.  He  saw  at  once  the  true  state  of  the 
case,  took  Gilbert's  arm,  and  led  him  to  his 
own  room.  There  he  saw  him  established 
quietly,  turned  the  key  upon  him,  and  left. 
But  little  sleep  visited  his  eyes  that  night. 

Early  in  the  morning,  before  the  city  was 
astir,  he  went  again  to  Gilbert's  room,  found 
him  awake,  and  sitting  dejectedly  by  the  table. 
The  young  man's  face  was  averted,  so  that 
Robert  could  not  see  its  expression ;  nor  did 
he  care  to.  He  felt  that  now  was  no  time 
for  talk.  Gilbert  must  be  thrown  upon  him 
self  and  the  mercy  of  God. 

Laying  the  key  upon  the  table,  he  made  a 
casual  remark,  kindly  but  indifferently,  and 
turned  towards  the  door.  What  an  agony 
of  despair  surged  in  Gilbert's  breast  at  the 
moment !  His  only  friend,  the  only  one  who 
had  tried  tc  keep  him  from  these  dreadful 


378  BOUNDBROOK; 

ways,  was  going, —  going  to  leave  him  to  him 
self  !  He  staggered  to  his  feet,  for  he  was 
weak  and  worn  with  excitement  and  liquor, 
and  stopped  Robert  at  the  doorway.  The 
misery  in  his  look  was  enough  to  make  one 
weep. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said  pleadingly.  "  Have  a 
little  pity  for  me  !  " 

"  You  have  no  pity  on  yourself,"  said 
Robert  almost  sternly. 

"  No,  I  shall  go  crazy.  I  am  not  fit  to  live. 
It  is  dreadful.  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Robert  led  him,  unresisting,  back  to  his 
chair.  "  I  can  do  nothing  for  you,"  he  said 
sadly,  "  except  to  continue  to  pray  to  my  God 
for  you." 

"  Then  pray,"  said  Gilbert,  —  "  pray  now, 
here ! " 

Robert  stood  looking  at  him  a  moment. 
Even  to  his  patient,  forgiving  spirit  it 
seemed  almost  hopeless. 


OR,  AMY  RUSUTON'S  MISSION.  379 

"  Gilbert,"  said  he,  "  do  you  honestly  wish 
it?" 

"  I  do,"  said  the  young  man  humbly. 

Robert  knelt.  In  a  few  words  he  placed  his 
erring  brother  in  the  hands  of  his  gracious 
Father.  And,  as  he  prayed,  faith  grew 
strong  in  his  own  soul.  He  rose  with  an  in 
ward  confidence  that  his  prayer  had  reached 
the  Father's  ear. 

Gilbert  sat  with  his  head  bowed  on  the 
table  ;  and,  as  he  did  not  speak,  Robert  went 
out  and  left  him  thus. 

He  came  that  evening  to  the  Bernhards', 
but  was  grave,  and  his  words  were  few ;  the 
next  evening  and  the  next  also,  silent  and 
grave  as  before,  and  evidently  inwardly  lean 
ing  toward  Robert  and  Elsie  as  if  he  had 
been  a  child.  His  eyes  followed  them  about 
the  room ;  and  it  seemed  to  give  him  enough 
of  satisfaction  if  he  could  hear  them  speak. 
But  no  one  uttered  a  word  on  the  one  sub 
ject  which  occupied  them  all. 


380  BOUNDBROOK; 

So  he  came  the  fourth  evening,  but,  in 
stead  of  remaining,  begged  Robert  to  go  over 
to  his  room  with  him.  Robert  went ;  and  in 
the  stillness  of  Gilbert's  little  room  they  sat 
down  together,  while  Robert  waited  for  Gil 
bert  to  speak.  It  was  evidently  not  easy  ; 
but  the  words  came  at  last. 

"  Mr.  Bernhard,"  said  he,  "I  have  not 
asked  you  to  come  here  to  talk  to  me,  or  to 
talk  to  you,  either.  You've  been  so  patient 
with  me,  and  tried  so  hard  to  keep  me 
straight,  that  I  feel  ashamed  to  look  you  in 
the  face  ;  and  yet  I  can  not  bear  to  have  you 
away  from  me."  His  voice  faltered  along 
the  words. 

If  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  and  Robert's, 
it  was  no  discredit  to  their  manliness.  But 
Robert  felt  it  was  no  time  for  this  kind  of 
talk. 

"Gilbert,"  said  he,"  you  have  come -to 
the  point  where  you  see  your  need.  You 


OR,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  -381 

know  you  can  not  help  yourself ;  and  yet  you 
weakly  turn  to  me,  a  fellow-sinner  like 
yourself.  Is  it  for  this  I  have  tried  to  help 
you,  that  you  might  make  me  your  refuge  ? 
God  pity  your  weakness !  Will  you  insult 
him  still  further  ?  " 

The  words  in  themselves  sounded  harsh ; 
but  Robert  Bernhard's  heart  held  the  sweet 
pity  and  forbearance  of  a  woman,  as  well  as 
the  firmness  of  a  man. 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  talk,  either,"  he 
resumed  after  a  long  silence.  "  It  would  be 
of  no  use.  Many  words  now  would  b§ 
wasted  between  us.  You  stand  at  a  fearfully 
momentous  point.  Unless  you  cast  from  you 
this  weak  leaning  on  others  to  keep  you, 
unless  you  seek  God's  help  for  yourself  " — 

"O  Mr.  Bernhard!"  said  Gilbert,  "I 
have  come  to  feel  all  that.  I  know  where  I 
stand.  But  I  cling  to  you  because  you  are 
near  to  God.  I  know  what  I  ought  to  do. 


382  BOUNDBROOK; 

If  I  could  give  myself  to  him,  I  would.  If 
I  only  could  I  " 

"•  Gilbert  Marvin,"  said  Robert  with  an 
impressiveness  which  even  Gilbert  had  not 
seen  in  him  before,  "you  must,  or  you  are 
ruined!" 

"  Oh,  I  know  it !  "  cried  Gilbert.  "  Tell 
me,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  What  shall  you  do  ?  Cast  yourself  on 
God's  tender  mercy,"  said  Robert,  his  voice 
tremulous  with  feeling. 

"  But  I  do  not  understand  it  all.  I  only 
know  Jesus  Christ  died  for  sinners;  and  1 
know  I  am  weak  and  wicked.  God  knows  I 
do,"  replied  Gilbert  with  deep  emotion. 

"  Do  you  repent  ?  "  asked  Robert,  tak 
ing  his  hand.  "  Do  you  turn,  now  and 
henceforth,  from  these  ways  in  which  you 
are  walking,  believing  that  God  has  promised 
he  will  help  all  who  turn  to  him,  for  his  dear 
Son's  sake  ?  " 


OB,  AM7  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  383 

Steadily  and  solemnly  Gilbert  answered, 
after  a  minute's  thought,  "  Mr.  Bernhard,  I 
believe  I  do." 

"  Then  you  need  understand  no  more. 
You  acknowledge  your  sin,  your  need  of 
God.  Still  he  waits,  as  he  has  waited  for 
years.  Let  go  of  yourself;  let  go  of  me. 
Look  at  your  Saviour." 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Gilbert  slowly.  "I 
can  understand  that.  I  acknowledge  my 
need  ;  I  do.  I  will  look  to  him.  He  will 
help  me  ;  I  know  he  will." 

It  was  a  rare  smile  that  kindled  the 
homely  face  of  Robert  Bernhard  as  he  heard 
these  words,  and  saw  Gilbert's  head  bowed 
in  his  hands,  —  a  smile  of  sweet  satisfaction 
that  was  only  kindled  there  when  he  knew 
some  wanderer  was  turning  to  seek  his  Fa 
ther's  face.  Then  he  went  softly  out,  and  left 
Gilbert  alone. 

Gilbert  came  to  Robert  the  next  morning 


£84  BOUNDBROOK; 

before  he  left  the  house.  His  face  was 
serenely  happy. 

"  Well,  Gilbert,"  said  his  friend,  "  how  is 
it  this  morning  ?  " 

"  When  I  found  you  were  gone  last  even 
ing,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  had  a  mind  to 
come  over  and  tell  you  how  new  every  thing 
seemed  to  me ;  but  I  thought  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  not  to.  You  did  not  tell  me 
I  would  be  so  wonderfully  happy  as  soon  as 
I  could  feel  that  God  would  help  me." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Robert  with  a  smile,  "  there 
was  no  need  of  that." 

"  But  tell  me,  Mr.  Bernhard,  what  is  this 
I  feel  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  all  new : 
every  thing  is  different.  I  never  sung  in  my 
life ;  but  now  I  want  to.  I  want  to  tell  peo 
ple  about  God's  love.  And  I  never  prayed  in 
my  life  before ;  but  last  night  I  could  not 
sleep  for  praying.  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Gilbert,"  said  Robert,  "  I  hope 
it  means  just  this,  — you  are  a  Christian." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  385 

"A  Christian!  Am  I  a,  Christian  ?  Why, 
I  never  knew  one  verse  of  the  Bible,  never 
went  to  Sunday  school  nor  to  church,  as 
other  people  do ;  and  I've  been  so  wicked 
lately.  Do  you  mean  I'm  a  Christian,  Mr. 
Bernhard  ?  " 

"I  trust  you  are,  Gilbert.  I  would  not 
trifle  with  you  on  a  point  like  this.  A  sor 
rowful  repentance  and  turning  to  God  is  sure 
to  be  met  by  his  gracious  forgiveness,  and 
that  is  what  makes  a  man  a  Christian.  But 
the  work  is  only  begun,  not  finished.  It's 
first  the  blade,  then  the  ear,  and  after  that 
the  full  corn  in  the  ear ;  repentance,  sanctifi- 
cation,  glorification." 

"  Oh,  do  stop,  and  tell  me  more  about  it !  " 
said  Gilbert.  "  It's  so  new  to  me  !  We  have 
a  little  time  yet.  What  is  it  to  be  a  Chris 
tian  always  ?  " 

"I  think,"  said  Robert,  "the  Christian 
life  at  first  is  not  very  unlike  our  previous 

26 


386  BOUNDBROOK; 

life,  —  at  least  I  found  it  so,  —  except  in  one 
respect.  Before  we  know  the  help  and  the 
love  of  God,  it's  much  sinning,  but  no  repent 
ing  :  after  that,  it's  much  sinning  still ;  but 
it's  repenting  on  our  part,  and  forgiving 
on  God's  part.  And  then  we  haven't  on  our 
hearts  the  weight  of  the  sin  and  restlessness 
of  not  going  to  God.  With  all  the  trials  and 
distractions  of  the  Christian  life,  there's  the 
deep  peace  always  underneath  it  all,  that 
comes  from  the  fact  that  we  have  been 
accepted  by  God,  for  the  sake  of  his  dear 
Son  Jesus." 

"I  remember  going  by  a  church  once, 
where  there  was  a  prayer-meeting  going  on," 
said  Gilbert ;  "  and  they  were  singing,  — 

"  '  Jesus,  I  love  thy  charming  name  : 
'Tis  music  to  my  ear ' 

"  I  remember  that  I  stopped  and  listened, 
and  then  went  on,  saying  they  must  be  a  set 


07?,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  387 

of  simple  people.  I  could  not  think  so 
now." 

"  No,  not  if  you  know  what  it  is  to  have 
begun  to  love  Him.  There  is  very  much  I 
should  like  to  say  to  you  this  morning,  my 
dear  boy,"  said  Robert ;  "  but  we  must  not 
make  business  wait  even  for  such  pleasure  as 
this.  Keep  close  to  God.  In  your  exalted 
state  of  feeling  you  will  be  apt  to  think  every 
thing  will  go  smoothly.  It  may  not  be  so. 
Keep  above  circumstances,  and  cling  to  your 
only  Helper.  Pray  continually  in  your  heart 
to  be  kept  from  temptation.  Now  I  must  bid 
you  good-by  for  to-day." 

"  Dear  little  fellow !  "  thought  Gilbert  as  he 
watched  the  small  deformed  figure  pass  out 
of  sight,  "  I  never  would  have  believed  he 
would  be  such  a  friend  to  me,  or  that  I  could 
have  learned  to  love  him.  And  now  I  know 
I  have  felt  his  influence  ever  since  the  first 
day  I  saw  him  at  the  wharves.  How  much 


388  BOUNDBROOK. 

I  owe  him  !  I'm  so  glad  I  did  him  that  little 
kindness  once  !  though  I  should  never  have 
thought  of  it  again.  And  how  he  has  kept 
watch  of  me,  and  led  me  to  God !  Oh,  I 
wish  I  could  tell  everybody  how  I  feel !  And 
then,  if  it  is  true  that  I  have  a  sister  living 
still,  and  she  is  good  and  lovely,  I  must  make 
myself  worthy  of  her :  God  helping  me,  per 
haps  I  can.  Oh,  how  beautiful  it  is  to  be  so 
sure  that  God  will  help  me  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  PARTY. 

RS.  RUSHTON  determined  to  give  a 
party.     It  was  to  be  small  and  very 

select.     In  the  first  place,  she  would 
<?•' 
iavite  no  one  who  was  less  wealthy  than  Mr. 

Rushton,  whose  worth,  pecuniarily,  she  set 
sometimes  at  several  millions.  Whether 
right  or  not,  Mr.  Rushton  never  troubled 
himself  to  find  fault  with  her  various  esti 
mates.  His  property  had  much  of  it  fallen 
to  him,  and  much  of  it  he  had  gained  by 
singular  success  in  business  ;  but  it  had  never 
made  him  foolishly  purse-proud.  He  loved 
money  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his  aesthetic 

389 


390  BOUNDBROOK; 

tastes,  nothing  more.  To  surround  himself 
with  beauty,  to  carpet  his  house  with  the 
costliest  fabrics  from  foreign  looms,  to  gather 
the  daintiest  articles  of  furniture  about  him 
for  convenience  and  luxury,  to  hang  on  his 
walls  the  rarest  paintings,  to  disperse  around 
the  finest  works  of  foreign  and  American 
sculptors,  to  gather  on  his  library-shelves  the 
most  valuable  books,  this  was  what  he 
craved.  It  was  not  done  for  show.  He 
understood  these  things,  and  reveled  in 
them. 

Mr.  Rushton  was  not  an  old  man  yet, 
scarcely  more  than  middle  aged  ;  but  a  little 
later  in  the  morning  he  occupied  his  easy- 
chair,  and  a  little  earlier  he  came  home  to 
the  comfort  of  his  glowing  fire :  that  was 
all.  His  step  on  the  street  was  as  brisk  and 
alert  as  ever.  By  what  slow  processes  does 
age  sometimes  assert  itself  ! 

To   return   to  Mrs.  Rushton's   party.     As 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON '8  MISSION.  391 

soon  as  the  lady  decided  that  it  should  take 
place,  the  entire  resources  of  the  household 
were  levied  to  contribute  to  it,  to  say  nothing 
of  lavish  expenditure  outside.  Every  thing 
that  taste  could  suggest  was  procured,  Mr. 
Rushton  demurring  at  no  demand  upon  his 
purse.  And  amid  it  all  came  up  the  all-im 
portant  topic  of  dress. 

It  would  be  inflicting  too  much  upon  the 
reader  to  give  at  length  the  daily  conversa 
tions  held  with  poor  wearied  Elsie  in  Mrs. 
Rushton's  sewing-room,  and  the  numberless 
trials  the  lady  experienced  in  trying  to  per 
suade  Amy  to  dress  according  to  her  own 
suggestions.  Amy  was  gentle  and  respectful, 
but  firm.  She  would  not  dress  in  any  absurd 
style  of  magnificence.  Richly  dressed  she 
was  willing  to  be ;  but  she  would  have 
nothing  superfluous  about  her. 

"  She  will  disgrace  Cummington  Square," 
said  Mrs.  Rushton  in  despair,  and  went  to  her 


392  BOUNDBKOOK; 

husband  about  it,  taking  Amy  along  with 
her. 

She  found  Mr.  Rushtoii  in  his  library, 
his  usual  resort  when  in  the  house  at  all. 
He  looked  up  from  his  book,  greeted  cour 
teously  the  approaching  pair,  and  offered 
them  seats. 

"  Well,  ladies,  what  now  ?  " 

Mrs.  Rushton  related  her  grievances.  "  I 
tell  the  girl  she  will  be  an  everlasting  dis 
grace  to  us,"  she  observed  in  conclusion, 
"and  I  can  not  move  her.  She's  perfectly 
obstinate." 

"  She  does  not  look  very  much  so,"  said 
the  gentleman,  smiling  at  Amy,  who  was 
looking  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  a  May  morn 
ing. 

"  Oh  !  it's  all  very  well  to  say  that.  But  my 
taste  is  exquisite,  as  you  know,  and  as  poor 
dear  papa  always  said.  It  is  a  positive  shock 
to  my  nerves  to  have  any  thing  less  elegant 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  393 

than  it  should  be."  The  lady  sunk  into  the 
chair  beside  her. 

"  Do  not  stand,  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton. 
But  she  had  taken  her  position  by  his  side, 
and  did  not  change.  "  I  do  not  see,  Lucy," 
he  continued,  "  why  you  should  be  so  dis 
tressed.  Amy's  dress  is  always  sufficiently 
elegant  and  in  good  taste.  Let  her  wear 
what  she  will,  she  always  looks  the  same  to 
me.  But,  my  child,  let  us  have  your  reasons 
why  you  insist  upon  being  so  much  more 
simply  dressed  than  your  mother  wishes. 
Then  we  will  have  the  question  settled  once 
for  all." 

"  I  wish  it  chiefly,  father,  because  this 
attention  to  dress  takes  my  thoughts  from 
better  things,"  said  Amy,  not  without  an 
effort ;  for  it  was  no  pleasure  to  her  to  seem 
singular  in  her  ideas. 

"  And  for  what  other  reason,  Amy  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  Christian,  father,"  she  said  in  a 


394  BOUNDBROOK; 

low,  steady  tone ;  "  and  as  such  I  have  no 
right,  if  I  had  the  inclination,  to  dress  in  any 
but  a  simple  manner.  I  do  like  to  be  dressed 
richly  and  elegantly ;  but  I  do  not  want  a 
profusion  of  ornaments  and  flounces  and 
jewelry." 

"  Have  you  any  argument  for  this," 
asked  Mr.  Rush  ton,  "  beyond  your  own  im 
pression  that  it  is  wrong  ?  " 

"I  could  give  some  Bible  authority, 
father."  How  much  her  manner  was  like 
the  sweet,  childish  dignity  with  which  she 
used  to  respond  to  his  questioning  years  ago  ! 

"  Let  us  have  it,  dear.  I  want  your 
mother  to  be  fully  satisfied  that  you  are 
acting  from  no  foolish  caprice." 

Amy  repeated,  "  Whose  adorning,  let  it 
not  be  that  outward  adorning  of  plaiting  the 
hair,  and  of  wearing  of  gold,  or  of  putting  on 
apparel ;  but  let  it  be  the  hidden  man  of  the 
heart,  in  that  which  is  not  corruptible,  even 


OR,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  395 

the   ornament  of  a  meek   and   quiet   spirit, 
which  is,  in  the  sight  of  God,  of  great  price.'  " 

"  But  you  do  not  understand  that  literally, 
Amy?" 

<c  I  do  not  think  it  means  that  Christian 
people  should  not  dress  well,  father ;  but  I 
do  think  it  means  that  they  should  spend 
neither  time  nor  money  on  foolish  and  un 
necessary  adornments." 

"  Not  even  on  unusual  occasions  ?  "  put  in 
Mrs.  Rushton. 

•  "  The  occasion  has  very  little  to  do  with 
the  question  of  superfluous  adornment,  I 
think,"  replied  Amy  with  modest  respect. 
"  Mother,  a  Christian  should  be  a  Christian 
everywhere." 

"  Well,"  sighed  Mrs.  Rushton,  as  Amy,  in 
the  pause  that  followed,  left  the  room 
quietly.  "  If  you  can  bear  it,  I  suppose  I 
must.  I  might  have  known  it  would  come 
to  this.  A  Christian  indeed  !  It  looks  like 
it,  setting  her  will  against  mine ! " 


396  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  She  has  not  done  that,  Lucy.  She  has 
only  expressed  her  convictions  and  wishes  ; 
and,  leaving  out  the  religious  side  of  the 
question,  they  are  very  sensible.  Besides, 
Amy  is  a  true  lady,  and  you  have  no  cause  to 
be  ashamed  of  her  in  any  company." 

"  A  lady ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rushton. 
"  What  does  she  do  two  or  three  times  every 
week,  but  dress  herself  regularly  in  that 
poplin  suit  she  had  new  as  long  ago  as  last 
fall,  and  go  off  on  some  long  errand  with 
Ellen,  carrying  baskets  and  bundles.  I  think 
you  ought  to  put  a  stop  to  such  goings-on, 
Mr.  Rushton." 

"  And  is  there  any  thing  unladylike  in 
that?"  returned  her  husband.  "But  since 
you  desire  it,  my  dear,  I  will  attend  to  it 
when  this  grand  excitement  over  the  party 
has  worn  itself  out.  How  soon  does  it  come 
off,  Lucy?" 

"  Do  hear  the  man !  "  cried  Mrs.  Rushton. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  397 

"  Not  to  know  when  it's  coming  off !  Why, 
not  for  a  fortnight,  Mr.  Rushton !  How 
soon  did  you  think,  pray  ?  " 

"  A  fortnight !  "  echoed  the  gentleman  in 
dismay.  "  I  thought  perhaps  this  week.  Are 
we  to  have  party  served  up  to  us  every  day 
for  a  fortnight  yet  ?  " 

"  And  pray  how  much  time  did  you  think 
I  should  have  to  prepare  my  dress  ?  "  said 
the  lady,  much  irritated.  "  Men  are  so 
stupid !  Poor  papa  wasn't,  though.  He 
always  appreciated  a  woman's  care  for  dress. 
If  only  so  much  as  a  fold  of  my  shawl  didn't 
hang  properly,  he  would  trot  out  after  me 
into  the  hall  to  arrange  it.  My  poor  dear 
papa!" 

Mr.  Rushton  here  changed  his  position  for 
one  nearer  the  window  ;  and  Mrs.  Rushton 
with  a  distressful  sigh  arose,  and  returned  to 
the  sewing-room. 

The  evening  of  the  party  came,  and  the 


398  BOUNDBROOK; 

mansion  of  John  Rushton,  Esq.,  ot  Cum- 
mington  Square,  was  ablaze  with  radiance. 
As  Mr.  Rushton  and  lady  stood  awaiting  the 
arrival  of  their  friends,  he  found  a  moment 
to  whisper  to  her  that  he  had  met  two 
friends  from  out  of  town,  the  day  before, 
and  had  invited  them  to  be  present. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  lady,  smiling  blandly,  for 
she  was  in  her  best  humor  now ;  "  some  of 
your  wealthy  friends,'!  suppose." 

"Wealthy?"  said  Mr.  Rushton  absently. 
"  Yes,  they  are,  if  I  know  what  wealth  is." 

The  guests  had  apparently  all  assembled  • 
and  Amy  was  at  the  farther  end  of  one  of  the 
long  parlors,  in  the  midst  of  an  animated  little 
circle,  who  were  discussing  the  merits  and 
demerits  of  a  book  which  had  just  appeared. 
It  was  a  series  of  sketches,  partly  serious, 
partly  fanciful,  but  all  strongly  tinged  with 
the  religious  sentiments  of  the  writer. 

"  Miss  Rushton,"  said  a  middle-aged  gen- 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON '8  MISSION.  399 

tleman,  "you  have  read  the  book,  I  pre 
sume  ?  " 

"  I  have,  Mr.  Beverly." 

"  And  what  is  your  opinion  of  it,  please  ? 
If  I  have  been  rightly  informed,  your  senti 
ments  in  regard  to  religion  differ  somewhat 
from  those  of  most  or  all  of  our  company." 

His  tone  was  very  polite :  no  one  could 
have  found  fault  with  that  or  his  gracious 
manner. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Beverly,"  said  Amy's 
clear,  modest  voice,  that  the  book  is  calcu 
lated  to  lead  one  from  correct  ideas  of  relig 
ious  truth." 

"Ah!  that  is  a  broad  statement,  Miss 
Rushton.  Is  not  truth  so  apparent  that  one 
can  not  turn  anywhere  without  finding  it  ?  " 

"  So  one  can  not,  Mr.  Beverly,  if  one's 
heart  has  been  so  moved  upon  as  to  recognize 
it." 

"Is  it  not  natural  to  recognize  it,  Miss 
Rushton  ?  " 


400  BOUNDBltOOK; 

Amy's  color  was  brilliant ;  for  she  knew 
that  all  eyes  were  upon  her.  But  her  answer 
was  given  with  her  characteristic  modesty. 

"  I  do  think  it  natural  to  search  for  and 
to  recognize  general  truths,  Mr.  Beverly  ;  but 
I  do  not  think  it  natural  to  admit  the  truth 
of  Christianity  which  the  Bible  teaches." 

"  But  how  do  you  define  the  '  truth  of 
Christianity,'  Miss  Rushton  ? "  intent  upon 
leading  her  on. 

"  In  its  general  meaning,  Mr.  Beverly,  the 
universally-acknowledged  fact  that  Christ 
came  to  establish  the  principles  of  a  pure 
religion ;  in  its  personal  meaning,  the  fact 
that  we  are  sinful  and  lost,  without  an  inter 
est  in  the  atonement  which  he  made  for  us 
on  the  cross." 

Some  of  the  little  circle  fell  away  at  this. 

"  Sinful  and  lost,"  said  Mr.  Beverly : 
"  surely  those  terms  have  no  personal  inter 
est  to  you?  " 


OR,  AMY  RVSHTON'S  MISSION.  401 

"  I  have  felt  myself  such,  Mr.  Beverly." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows  incredulously. 
"  Would  you  include  us  all  under  those 
terms  ?  " 

"  Must  not  all  be  who  do  not  stand  on  the 
Lord's  side,  Mr.  Beverly  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  equal  to  the  argument,  Miss 
Rushton,  at  such  a  place  and  time,"  returned 
the  gentleman  blandly.  "  If  you  will  do  me 
the  favor  some  other  time,  I  should  be  glad 
to  resume  it." 

"  Mr.  Beverly,"  said  Amy,  with  gentle 
frankness,  "  God's  truth  needs  no  argument, 
least  of  all  from  me.  His  word  speaks  for 
itself." 

The  gentleman  bowed,  and  excused  him 
self.  As  Amy  turned,  she  noticed,  with  some 
curiosity,  a  figure  of  a  gentleman  at  a  little 
distance,  standing  so  that  she  could  not  see 
his  face.  How  strongly  he  reminded  her 
of  Mr.  Ellery ! 

26  > 


402  BOUNDBROOK; 

She  stood  looking  intently,  when  he 
moved,  and  turned  towards  her.  It  was  Mr. 
Ellery.  Another  minute,  and  they  had 
clasped  hands. 

"  Your  father  has  been  waiting  to  take  me 
to  you,"  he  said,  but  was  called  away.  "  And 
I  do  not  know  how  to  tell  you  here  what  a 
pleasure  it  is  to  see  you." 

She  laughed,  her  frank,  childish  laugh. 
"  Then  you  shall  come  away  and  tell  me, 
Mr.  Ellery.  Let  us  go  out  of  the  parlors  to 
the  music-room." 

There  were  but  few  there,  for  music  had 
not  been  called  for  as  yet ;  and  they  sat  down, 
Amy,  with  all  her  girlish  freedom  still,  asking 
questions  as  fast  as  Mr.  Ellery  could  answer 
them.  He  explained  his  unexpected  pres 
ence  there  by  saying  that  he  had  met  Mr. 
Rushton,  and  yielded  to  his  urgent  invitation 
to  come.  "  And  Bertram  was  with  me,"  he 
added,  "  but  had  an  engagement  for  this 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.         403 

evening.  He  will  call  on  you  soon,  with  your 
permission,  Miss  Amy." 

"  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  see  him !  "  said  Amy 
joyously.  "  And  did  you  come  by  way  of 
Boundbrook,  Mr.  Ellery  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  saw  most  of  the  good  friends 
there.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival  are  anticipat 
ing  a  long  visit  from  you  the  coming  sum 
mer." 

"  You  are  still  preaching  in  Dayton  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  the  Lord  is  with  us.  Every 
year  the  work  becomes  more  delightful  and 
satisfying.  And  how  is  it  with  you,  my 
child  ?  " 

He  smiled  at  himself  the  next  moment. 
"  Pardon  me :  it  seems  as  if  you  were  my 
little  scholar  still." 

"  So  I  am,"  said  Amy  happily.  "  Let  it 
be  so.  Mr.  Ellery,  it  is  not  here  as  it  was  in 
Boundbrook." 

"But  you  are  ' strong  in  his  might '  ? "  he 


404  BOUNDBROOK; 

replied,  with  a  quiet  emphasis  which  made 
Amy  look  at  him  inquiringly.  "  I  did  not 
intend  to  tell  you  of  it,"  he  said,  answering 
her  look  ;  "  but  I  could  not  help  hearing  your 
conversation  with  Mr.  Beverly." 

She  shook  her  head  with  the  wistful 
gravity  of  her  childhood.  "Such  discussion 
is  not  much  to  the  purpose,  Mr.  Ellery." 

"  '  A  word  in  season  and  out  of  season ' 
is  good,"  he  observed.  "  A  fearless  defense 
of  the  truth  is  never  lost.  Among  all  the 
grains  that  fall,  who  knows  how  many  may 
take  root  ?  But,  Miss  Amy,  if  I  may  ask  the 
question,  what  is  your  life  here  ?  " 

"  My  own  life,  Mr.  Ellery  ?  I  can  hardly 
say.  But  I  am  trying  to  remember  my  mis 
sion." 

He  did  not  doubt  it,  looking  at  her  face, 
lighted  up,  as  she  spoke,  with  the  memory  of 
some  happy  experiences  in  that  "  mission." 

"  You  have  Ellen  Spencer  with  you  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  405 

"  Yes ;  and  she  is  really  growing  to  be 
bright  and  happy  after  her  years  of  misera 
ble  childhood.  She  often  speaks  of  you,  Mr. 
Ellery." 

"  Poor  child  !  she  was  wretched  enough  at 
home,  when  I  first  found  them  out.  I  sup 
pose  you  find  highway  and  hedge  work, 
plenty  of  it,  still,  Miss  Amy  ?  " 

"  More  than  I  can  do  alone,  Mr.  Ellery," 
she  replied.  "  But  I  take  Ellen  with  me." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  my  child.  But 
work  is  necessary  in  all  parts  of  the  vine 
yard,  and  God  knows  best  where  to  put  his 
servants.  But  I  must  not  keep  you  longer 
from  the  company  in  the  parlors." 

"  Amy,  child,  why  have  you  been  away  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Rushton,  after  they  had  separated 
and  she  had  joined  her  mother. 

"  Talking  with  an  old  friend,  Mr.  Ellery, 
mother." 

"  An  '  old  friend '  ?     He  don't  look  very 


406  BOUNDBROOK, 

old,"  was  Mrs.  Rushton's  remark.  "  Your 
father  introduced  him,  and  told  me  he  invited 
him  and  somebody  else,  I  forgot  the  name. 
And  he  says  they  are  wealthy." 

"  Did  he  say  that,  mother  ?  "  said  Amy. 
"  Father  must  mistake." 

"  If  they  are  not,  why  did  he  invite  them  ? 
But  it  will  not  do  for  us  to  stand  talking 
here."  Mrs.  Rushton  moved  away  among 
her  guests ;  and  Amy  was  presently  taken 
possession  of  by  her  friend  Mary  Clay. 

"  May  I  tell  you  how  lovely  somebody 
looks  to-night  ? "  said  Mary  archly,  as  they 
moved  down  the  room. 

"  No,  Mary,"  returned  Amy  unaffectedly, 
"  unless  it's  yourself." 

"  You're  the  oddest  girl  I  Don't  you  spend 
any  time  on  dress  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  some." 

"  And  don't  you  really  care  to  look  as 
beautiful  as  you  can  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  407 

"  I'm  afraid  I  do,  Mary,"  returned  Amy, 
laughing  at  her  earnestness. 

"  But,  if  I  should  dress  as  simply  as  you, 
I  should  not  look  fit  to  be  seen,"  pursued 
Mary.  "  You  have  only  that  blue  silk  with 
those  elegant  laces,  and  you  are  more  ex 
quisitely  dressed  than  anybody  else  here." 

"  Mary  dear,  don't  tell  me  .  so,"  said  Amy 
with  grave  earnestness.  "  Come  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  let  me  show  you  some 
new  views  father  brought  home  this  week." 

The  part  Amy  had  borne  in  the  short  dis 
cussion  with  Mr.  Beverly  had  afforded  him  a 
sort  of  vexed  amusement ;  and  at  supper, 
after  relating  it  rather  volubly  to  a  lady- 
friend,  he  carelessly,  and  forgetting  the  high 
breeding  on  which  he  prided  himself,  added, 
"  But  she  is  really  lovely,  and  talks  well,  in 
spite  of  her  probably  plebeian  birth.  Mr. 
Rushton  has  taken  a  great  deal  of  pains  with 
her.  I  am  surprised,  on  inquiry,  to  find  that 
she  knows  nothing  about  it." 


408  BOUNDBROOK; 

It  was  said  in  a  low  tone,  to  be  sure  ;  but 
it  was  not  low  enough  to  escape  Amy's  ear, 
who  stood  not  far  off,  but  out  of  Mr.  Beverly's 
range.  She  put  down  the  ice-cream  she 
held,  and  stared  blankly  at  Mr.  Ellery,  who 
attended  her.  He  had  heard  every  word,  as 
well. 

"  Do  not  mind  me,"  she  said,  recovering 
herself  instantly;  for  she  looked  so  white, 
that  he  would  have  led  her  away  from  the 
table.  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Ellery  :  it  is  better 
for  me  to  remain  here.  I  can  control  my 
self." 

She  smiled  in  her  effort  to  be  brave :  but 
the  color  that  had  been  so  brilliant  all  the 
evening  was  gone ;  and  her  eyes  had  a 
strained  look,  as  if  all  the  sweet  life  that  had 
shone  out  through  them  had  been  stricken 
out  for  ever. 

Mr.  Ellery  ventured  no  words ;  but  he 
carefully  shielded  Amy  from  the  gaze  of 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  409 

curious  eyes  and  the  attacks  of  idle  talk. 
How  grateful  she  felt  for  his  delicate  care, 
even  in  her  sense  of  keen  heart-pain ! 

But  she  made  no  sign  of  distress.  All  the 
forces  of  her  nature  were  summoned  to  keep 
her  calm  and  steady ;  and  before  long  she 
began  to  bear  herself  with  her  usual  quiet 
spirit. 

It  was  an  unnatural  quiet,  after  all.  She 
ate  and  drank  of  what  little  Mr.  Ellery 
offered  her,  but  knew  not  what  it  was ;  and, 
through  it  all,  the  scene  before  her  was  im 
pressed  upon  her  consciousness  with  a  vivid 
ness  that  never  wholly  faded  out.  The 
lights,  the  joyous  faces,  the  ceaseless  murmur 
of  voices,  the  glitter  of  silver,  the  tinkle  of 
glass,  all  burned  itself,  as  it  were,  into  her 
memory  for  ever. 

But  the  long  strain  was  over  at  last.     The 

company  began   to   move ;  and,  among     the 
0 
others,  they  filed  back  to  the  parlors.     There 


410  BOUNDBROOK; 

Mr.  Ellery  before  long  bade  Amy  good 
night. 

"Dear  child,"  said  he  with  the  old  kindly 
sympathy  in  his  eyes,  "  you  know  your 
refuge.  *  Are  we  not  all  children  of  adop 
tion,  whereby  we  cry,  Abba,  Father  ?  '  The 
way  to  that  Father  is  very  clear,  you  know." 

"  I  know,"  she  replied  with  sweet  steadi 
ness. 

"  Then  promise  me  you  will  not  grieve 
over  this  knowledge." 

"  I  will  not,  Mr.  Ellery." 

He  went  away  to  bid  his  host  and  hostess 
good-evening ;  and  Amy,  for  another  hour, 
bore  the  strain  of  carrying  herself  quietly 
through  the  ceremonies  of  the  evening. 
When  the  last  train  had  swept  out  of  the 
parlors,  she  kissed  her  father  and  mother,  and 
said  good-night  as  usual.  But  she  tottered, 
rather  than  walked,  to  her  own  room,  and 
sank  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside.  What 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION. 


411 


Amy  Rushton  said  to  her  God  that  night 
can  never  be  known.  But,  through  the  re 
maining  hours  of  the  night,  Ellen  ever  and 
anon  looked  in  at  the  door,  and  came  away 
with  a  face  of  exceeding  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

PLANS    AND  PUKPOSES. 

2) 

(VHE  hours  dragged  away  toward  morn 
ing,  and  the   conflict  was  over.     The 

P 

pride,  humbled  by  the  knowledge  that 
she  was  not  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Rushton 
(and  how  strong  that  pride  had  been,  Amy 
had  not  before  known) ;  the  involuntary 
feeling  of  aversion  to  a  birth  among  the 
plebeians,  as  Mr.  Beverly  had  said  ;  the  uncer 
tainty  that  hung  over  her  in  regard  to  it ;  the 
deep  sorrow  that  the  tender  and  long-loved 
father  was  not  her  father  —  was  laid,  where 
Amy  had  long  ago  learned  to  lay  every  trial 
and  perplexity,  in  her  Father's  hands. 

412 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  413 

^  "Are  we  not  all  children  of  adoption, 
whereby  we  cry,  Abba,  Father?"  How 
often  this  recurred  to  her  !  And  now  it  be 
came  a  sweet  pleasure  to  feel  that  she  had 
been  twice  adopted,  —  by  a  heavenly  Father 
so  wonderful,  by  an  earthly  father  so  kind,  so 
wise.  Her  wonder  and  gratitude  grew  as 
she  thought  upon  it.  How  patient  he  had 
been  with  her  waywardness  and  fits  of 
childish  anger !  how  tolerant,  in  later  years, 
of  her  religious  opinions !  She  could  not 
love  him  less,  but  more,  feeling  all  this.  Her 
dear,  loving  father  still.  And  he  should 
never  know  that  this  knowledge  had  come 
to  her.  She  would  never  let  him  be  pained 
by  the  least  suspicion  of  it.  It  was  safe  with 
Mr.  Ellery.  She  was  sure  of  that. 

She  went  down  to  breakfast  as  usual ;  and, 
only  that  her  face  was  white,  there  was  no 
trace  of  the  evening's  trial. 

"  You  are  very  pale,  daughter,"  said  Mr. 


414  BOUNDBROOK; 

Rushton  anxiously.  "  These  parties  do  not 
agree  with  you." 

"  I  am  only  a  little  tired,  father,"  she  said, 
going  over  to  him,  and  putting  her  arms 
round  his  neck.  She  leaned  her  face  down  to 
his.  "  Dear  father,  you  are  too  tender  of 
me." 

"  No,  my  darling  child."  And  all  at  once 
something  reminded  him  of  that  waking 
dream  he  had  so  long  ago,  when  he  fancied 
Amy  was  slipping  away  from  him.  "  I  could 
not  be  too  tender." 

Mrs.  Rushton  entered  from  the  opposite 
door. 

"  Good-morning,  mother,"  said  Amy  with 
happy  voice. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  returned  wearily. 
"  How  can  you  be  so  gay,  child !  I  declare, 
these  things  that  are  such  a  burden  to  my 
sensitive  spirit  are  like  a  feather  to  you  ! 
Well,  you  are  constituted  more  lightly  than 
I  am.  Poor  papa  would  have  said  "  — 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  415 

"Excuse  me,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Rushton.  "  Let  us  have  our  coffee,  and 
these  vapors  will  vanish.  The  party  was  a 
success,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh !  perhaps  so.  But  what  made  you 
tell  me  that  Mr.  —  what  is  it  ?  Mr.  Ellery, 
Amy's  old  friend,  as  she  says,  was  wealthy  ? 
Amy  says  you  mistake.  You  know  I  could 
not  bear  to  have  you  invite  poor  people." 

"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  soul-wealth," 
returned  the  gentleman  thoughtfully. 

«  Well,  what  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  better  than  money,  my  dear.  Mr. 
Ellery  is  highly  gifted,  educated,  and  noble. 
I  am  a  practical  man,  you  know  ;  and  I  know 
his  worth.  His  successful  work  among  the 
people  of  the  Mill  Village  at  Boundbrook 
has  made  his  name  a  power  there.  Amy,  did 
he  tell  you  that  he  is  to  preach  at  Elm-street 
Church  next  Sunday  ?  By  the  way,  that  is 
where  you  go,  is  it  not  ?  " 


416  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  Yes,  father.  But  he  did  not  tell  me. 
Oh  !  if"  —  She  was  checked  by  the  amused 
expression  of  Mr.  Rushton's  face. 

"  Well,  Amy,  I  am  waiting  for  the  invita 
tion  to  go.  Let  us  have  it." 

"  Would  you  go,  father,  would  you  really  ?  " 
she  cried  almost  with  tears  in  her  eyes  for 
delight.  "  Will  you  go,  and  you,  too, 
mother  ?  " 

"  I  ?  No,  child !  You  know  I  never  go  to 
church ;  and  of  course  I  should  not  begin 
with  such  a  common  place  as  Elm  Street." 

"  My  dear  wife,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  "  it  is 
one  of  the  first  churches  in  the  city.  I  have 
not  been  in  a  church  for  years ;  but  I  mean 
to  hear  Mr.  Ellery." 

"  I'm  so  glad !  "  said  Amy,  not  controlling 
herself  at  all  in  her  joy.  She  astonished 
Ellen  by  her  happy  spirit  all  day ;  so  much 
so,  that  the  girl  looked  at  her  in  bewilder 
ment. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION:        417 

"Father  is  going  to  church  next  Sun 
day,  Ellen,"  she  said,  noticing  that  the 
girl's  eyes  followed  her  about.  "  Isn't  that 
something  to  be  glad  for  ?  Oh !  God  never 
sends  a  trial,  but  there  comes  some  blessing 
to  balance  it,"  she  added  in  thought,  as  the 
memory  of  the  previous  evening  surged  over 
her.  Let  it  not  be  supposed  there  was  no 
sore  spot  at  Amy's  heart  yet.  But  the  joy 
of  having  her  father  at  church  with  her, 
sitting  lay  her  side,  hearing  the  same  words 
in  which  she  so  much  delighted,  was 
enough  to  make  the  day  all  sunshine  to  her 
trustful  spirit.  And  so  she  gave  praise  in 
stead  of  complaint,  and  sung  songs  of  thank 
fulness  instead  of  murmuring. 

A  day  or  two  later,  Bertram  Morley  set 
out  for  a  call  at  Mr.  Rushton's.  As  he  drew 
near  the  house,  Amy  and  Ellen  came  up 
from  the  opposite  direction ;  Ellen  with  her 
hands,  as  usual,  occupied  with  basket  and 

27 


418  BOUNDBROOK; 

bundle.  It  may  as  well  be  said  here,  that,  in 
compliance  with  his  wife's  wishes,  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  had  duly  catechised  Amy  on  the  subject 
of  these  morning  rambles,  and,  getting  very 
modest  and  satisfactory  answers,  had  forth 
with  put  into  her  hands  an  uncounted  roll  of 
bills  to  be  laid  out  for  the  benefit  of  her  sick 
people.  Which,  when  Mrs.  Rushton  knew, 
she  was  again  in  despair. 

Amy's  greeting  of  Bertram  was  just  like 
her  honest  self.  "  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you, 
Mr.  Morley !  and  I  do  so  want  to  hear  all  about 
dear  old  Boundbrook ! "  she  said,  shaking 
hands  with  him  warmly,  in  defiance  of  Cum- 
mington  Square,  which  was  looking  out  of 
its  front-windows.  She  ushered  him  into  the 
house  and  into  the  drawing-room,  and  ran 
away  gayly  to  make  herself  presentable,  as 
she  said. 

She  was  back  directly;  and  Boundbrook 
must  have  suffered  from  tingling  ears  dur- 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  419 

ing  the  next  hour,  if  the  old  saying  be 
true.  There  was  so  much  to  say !  so  many 
good  old  people  to  be  inquired  after  !  so  many 
younger  ones  who  came  in  for  their  share  of 
interest !  and  the  little  children,  even.  And 
then  they  discussed  the  poor  and  the  sick, 
and  some  of  the  wandering  ones,  whom  Amy 
knew  as  well  as  the  better  class  ;  all  her 
sympathies  stirring  to  their  very  depths  as 
she  talked  of  them,  till  Bertram  all  at  once 
remembered  that  he  ought  only  to  have  made 
a  fashionable  call,  and  rose  to  go,  with  some 
playful  remark  to  that  effect. 

"  But  I  am  not  fashionable,  Mr.  Bertram,'* 
laughed  Amy.  "  And  I  have  kept  you  talk 
ing  all  this  time  about  Boundbrook.  Now 
take  your  seat  again,  please,  and  tell  me  of 
yourself.  You  preach  sometimes  at  the  new 
church  ?  " 

"  I  try,  Miss  Amy,"  he  returned  simply. 
'  "  How  greatly  God  has  blessed  that  place 


420  BOUNDBROOE; 

since  you  and  I  were  children  there  !  Then 
a  little  sabbath  school  of  fifty  gathered  at 
the  schoolhouse,  now  there  is  a  church  and 
congregation  amounting  to  five  times  that 
number.  '  What  hath  God  wrought ! '" 

"  How  soon  do  you  complete  your  studies, 
Mr.  Bertram  ? "  Amy  asked  after  a  short 
silence. 

"  Next  spring,  Miss  Amy,  in  God's  provi 
dence." 

"  And  then  you  are  prepared  for  the  work 
wherever  he  may  lead.  I  do  trust  it  may 
not  be  far  from  us." 

His  face  grew  thoughtful,  and  his  fine  eyes 
met  hers  earnestly. 

"  Miss  Amy,  I  have  made  my  choice,"  he 
said  presently.  "  My  work  does  not  lie  near 
by." 

"  You  will  go  away  ?  " 

"  Yes :  to  carry  the  '  glad  tidings  '  to  the 
heathen." 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.       421 

"  O  Mr.  Bertram !  " 

"  You  will  bid  me  '  God  speed,'  Miss 
Amy?" 

"  I  could  not  do  otherwise,  Mr.  Bertram  ; 
but  to  lose  you  to  go  so  far  away,  just  now, 
it  seems  hard  to  feel  it  must  be." 

"  I  have  had  a  long  struggle  with  myself," 
Bertram  said  after  another  and  longer  silence. 
"  My  inclinations  turned  so  strongly  to  the 
work  here,  that,  for  a  long  time,  I  could  not 
bring  myself  to  see  that  God  was  really 
pointing  out  the  way  to  India.  But,  Miss 
Amy,"  his  tone  grew  low  with  feeling,  "  as 
long  ago  as  the  time  when  you  stood  at  Mr. 
Percival's  door,  that  rainy  day  in  April,  and 
reminded  me,  that,  if  I  would  be  a  Christian 
I  must  be  in  earnest  about  it,  —  ever  since 
then,  and  the  consecration  that  followed,  I 
have  felt  that  I  must  be  in  earnest  at  every 
step  of  the  Christian  life.  Miss  Amy,  your 
childish  sincerity,  under  God,  brought  me  to 


422  BOUNDBROOK; 

the  better  way ;  and,  having  found  that,  you, 
under  God,  will  have  made  me  a  missionary." 
"  O  Mr.  Bertram,  do  not  say  that !  " 
"It    was    long    before    I  could    see    the 
way  so  clearly  that  I  could  not  mistake," 
resumed  Bertram ;  "  but  just  as  soon  as  I  did, 
and  accepted  what  seemed  God's  will,  the 
most  satisfying  peace  filled  my  heart.     So  I 
can  say  with  joy,  — 

" '  Through  dangers  and  through  trials  too, 
I'll  go  at  His  command.' " 

"  But  your  friends  —  your  mother  ?  "  said 
Amy. 

"  She  gives  me  up  as  a  Christian  should. 
It  will  not  be  for  long,  dear  Miss  Amy," 
said  Bertram,  rising  to  go  ;  "  and  I  go  to  do 
just  the  same  glorious  work  that  I  should 
here.  Since  I  have  come  to  think  so  much 
about  it,  I  begin  to  long  for  the  time  to  come. 
And  by  and  by  we  shall  all  sit  down  together 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  423 

in  our  Father's  kingdom.  So  you  must  bid 
me  God  speed,  Miss  Amy.  I  want  your 
prayers  and  blessing." 

"  You  shall  have  them,"  she  said,  giving 
him  both  hands,  as  she  had  been  wont  to  do 
when  a  child ;  and,  though  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes,  there  was  a  smile  on  her  lips. 
"  God  bless  you,  and  give  you  many,  many 
souls  for  his  kingdom !  " 

In  a  few  hours  Bertram  was  on  his  way 
back  to  his  studies  at  the  seminary. 

Amy  went  down  to  the  library  in  the 
evening  to  find  her  father.  He  was  alone, 
but,  to  Amy's  surprise,  not  reading.  His 
evening  paper  lay  unfolded  upon  the  table. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  father  ?  "  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"Very  well,  dear  child."  But  his  face 
had  an  absent,  thoughtful  look  still. 

"  Did  you  come  to  tell  me  something, 
Amy  ?  " 


424  BOUNDBROOK; 

"Yes,  father.     Shall  I  stay?" 

He  answered  the  question  by  taking  her 
on  his  knee. 

"  I  am  quite  ready  to  hear  it,  Amy.  Tell 
me  the  story,  just  as  you  used." 

"  It's  a  very  little  story,  father.  Bertram 
Morley  called  to-day." 

"Ah!" 

"  Yes :  you  know  he  is  studying  for  the 
ministry." 

"  Yes,  I  know  he  is." 

"  He  has  decided  not  to  preach  here,  but 
to  go  out  as  a  missionary  to  India." 

"  To  India  !  What  fanaticism !  "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Rushton.  "  Why,  child,  the  boy  is 
beside  himself!  Go  there  to  bury  his  fine 
character  and  talents  in  trying  to  convert 
those  miserable  heathen !  What  will  come 
next  ?  "  Then  another  thought  seemed  to 
strike  Mr.  Rushton.  He  gathered  Amy  to 
his  breast,  and  held  her  tightly.  "  Amy, 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  425 

surely  you  would  never  go  away  from  me 
too?" 

"  Dear  father,  no,"  said  Amy.  "  I  have  no 
reason  to  think  God  wants  me  to  leave  you." 

"  And,  if  you  had,  could  you  go  ?  You 
would  break  my  heart,  Amy.  No  :  you  will 
not  leave  me.  I  shall  hold  you  too  tightly. 
I  shall  not  let  you  slip  away  from  me  so." 

"  I  am  not  going,  dear  father,"  said  Amy 
quietly.  She  sat  up  and  looked  at  him  with 
serene,  clear  eyes.  "  Be  sure  of  that.  But 
some  must  go.  And,  because  Bertram  is  one 
of  the  best,  shall  we  keep  him  back  ?  God 
wants  his  best  workmen  there,  I  think." 

"  I  do  not  know,  Amy.  It  seems  a  strange 
and  almost  dreadful  thing  to  me,  that  this 
religious  enthusiasm  should  get  hold  of 
young  minds  to  such  a  degree." 

Amy  smiled,  looking  away  with  a  certain 
far-off  look  she  sometimes  had,  as  one  that 
looks  through  a  telescope,  and  smiles  to  her- 


426  BOUNDBROOK; 

self  to  find  distant  glories  brought  so  near ; 
while  another,  standing  by,  sees  only  the  dull 
earth  and  pale  blue  sky. 

"  Have  you  come  back  again,  Amy  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Rushton,  as  her  gaze  came  slowly  back 
to  his.  He  had  been  watching  her  counte 
nance.  "  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  thinking,  father.  Is  it  mere 
religious  enthusiasm  which  helps  Bertram  to 
decide  for  India,  knowing  its  privations  and 
dangers  ?  Is  it  that  which  gives  him  such 
serene  peace  and  faith  and  hope  ?  " 

"  If  not  that,  what  is  it,  Amy  ?  " 

"  It  is  because,  I  think,  because  he  has 
seen  so  deeply  his  own  sinfulness  and  need, 
and  knows  so  well  from  what  a  depth  God 
has  lifted  him  up  ;  and  so  he  longs  unspeaka 
bly  to  help  others  to  feel  it.  And  it  is  God 
with  him,  Christ  formed  in  him  the  hope 
of  glory,  which  keeps  him  earnest,  and  free 
from  anxiety  through  it  all.  0  father,  if 
you  only  knew  this  I  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  427 

It  was  a  cry  from  her  heart.  He  did  not 
need  that  it  should  be  interpreted  for  him. 
It  was  a  long  time  before  either  spoke  ;.  and 
then  it  was  Mr.  Rushton. 

"  Amy,"  said  he,  "  when  you  came  in,  I 
was  just  about  sending  for  you,  to  have  a 
little  talk  on  a  subject  which  we  have  always 
been  very  silent  upon.  And  I  should  not 
mention  it  now,  but  your  mother  thinks  the 
knowledge  can  but  come  to  you  in  some 
way,  and  it  is  better  you  should  know  it 
from  me.  I  had  hoped  never  to  have  you 
know  this,  lest  it  should  make  you  un 
happy  ;  but  it  need  not,  darling.  You  are 
my  dear,  precious  child  still.  Remember 
that."  His  voice  faltered.  "  Will  you  always 
remember  that,  Amy  ?  " 

How  serenely,  and  yet  not  unmoved,  she 
looked  at  him ! 

"  Yes,  dear  father." 

"  Then,  for  your  own  sake  only,  Amy,  I 


428  BOUNDBROOK; 

must  tell  you,  you  are  not  our  own  daugh 
ter." 

He  had  expected  it  would  hurt  her  deeply, 
perhaps  distress  her  beyond  measure  ;  but  she 
only  clasped  him  round  the  neck,  caressing 
him  as  a  little  child  would  have  done. 

"  Do  not  be  troubled  about  me,  father," 
said  her  clear,  steady  voice.  "  I  only  wish  I 
had  been  such  a  daughter  as  you  have  de 
served  all  these  years.  If  I  could  only  give 
back  a  little  return  for  your  love  and  tender 
care  !  " 

"  Dear  child,"  said  he,  "  you  have  done 
that  every  day." 

"  But  you  have  done  so  much  for  me !  you 
have  made  me  equal  to  yourselves." 

"  Hush,  Amy.  I  see  this  is  not  news  to 
you.  How  long  have  you  known  it  ?  " 

She  told  him. 

"  And  would  you  never  have  allowed  me 
to  suspect  that  you  knew  it  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  SUSHTON'S  MISSION.  429 

"  Not  if  I  could  have  helped  it,  dear  fa 
ther." 

"  My  dear,  thoughtful  daughter,  now  let 
me  tell  you  how  you  came  to  me."  He  gave 
her  the  outlines  of  the  story. 

"  But,  dear  father,  this  is  not  all.  If  you 
know  so  much,  you  must  know  more." 

"  Are  you  content  to  wait,  Amy,  till  it 
seems  best  to  tell  you  more  ?  " 

• 

She  was  not  quite  content ;  but  in  her  quiet 
way  said  she  would  try  to  be,  and  presently 
went  away  to  Mrs.  Rushton's  room. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  believed,  Mr.  Rushton," 
was  that  lady's  remark  to  her  husband, 
as,  an  hour  or  two  later,  he  came  up  stairs, 
"  that  the  girl  would  have  taken  it  so 
quietly.  I  expected  she  would  go  nearly 
frantic  to  find  she  was  not  really  the  rich 
John  Rushton's  daughter.  She  has  quite  got 
over  those  wild  panics  she  used  to  have, 
hasn't  she  ?  Why,  she  even  said  she  did  not 


430  BOUNDBROOK. 

see  how  I  have  been  so  patient  with  her  as  I 
have,  not  being  her  own  mother.  I  am  glad 
she  appreciates  my  forbearance  at  last.  I 
really  think  we  shall  get  on  better  now." 

Mrs.  Rushton  was  so  evidently  pleased, 
that  Mr.  Rushton,  though  chafing  inwardly  at 
her  talk,  joined  in  her  pleasure ;  and  so  the 
night  settled  down  upon  that  portion  of 
Cummington  Square  very  happily. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


A  NEW  MANHOOD. 

ALBERT'S  Christian  career  was  not 
altogether  a  smooth  one.  By  nature 
he  was  versatile  and  restless,  —  now  on 
the  heights,  and  now  down  in  the  depths.  In 
his  new  experience  he  was  not  likely  to  be 
different ;  certainly  not  till  the  peculiarities 
of  his  nature  had  had  time  to  adjust  them 
selves  to  the  wonderful  change,  and  steady 
down  into  the  even,  calm  flow  of  the  deep 
Christian  life. 

More  than  one  temptation  he  had  to 
encounter,  more  than  once  he  yielded,  and 
then  went  to  Robert  in  despair.  His  good 

431 


432  BOUNDBROOK ; 

little   friend   always   sent   him   to   a  higher 
Power. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  "  he  said  despondent 
ly,  after  one  of  these  falls,  to  Robert.  "  How 
can  I  call  myself  a  Christian?  " 

"  Do  you  doubt  that  you  have  seen  your 
self  guilty  and  lost,  and  that  God  has  for 
given  you  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"  Oh,  no  I  I  never  could  doubt  that.  But 
I  bring  disgrace  upon  the  name ;  and  God 
sees  that  I  am  still  overcome  by  these  dread 
ful  habits.  To-day  I  got  irritated ;  and,  before 
I  knew  what  I  was  doing  or  saying,  I  said 
what  I  had  no  right  to." 

"  But  does  it  give  you  pain  when  you  do 
these  things  ?  " 

"  I  hate  myself  for  it  —  indeed  I  do  — 
worse  than  I  used  to  hate  and  curse  myself 
before ;  but  it  is  there  still." 

"  Yes,"  said  Robert :  "  I  told  you  the  Chris 
tian  life  was  not  altogether  unlike  the  pre- 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  433 

vious  one  at  first.  We  are  not  all  at  once  to 
be  lifted  up  to  perfection.  It's  sinning  ;  but 
it's  continual  repenting  and  forgiving. 
When  you  can  commit  these  things  of  which 
you  complain,  boldly,  and  do  not  repent,  then 
you  may  begin  to  be  alarmed  and  despond 
ent.  But  so  long  as  you  can  flee  to  your 
Stronghold  with  cries  and  tears,  so  long  you 
may  still  venture  to  say, '  I  am  a  Christian.' ' 

So  Gilbert  struggled  on.  By  degrees  the 
manhood  that  was  in  him  began  to  assert 
itself.  His  falls  became  less  frequent ;  and 
his  wicked  companions  found  less  in  him  that 
was  like  themselves.  Gradually  they  fell 
away,  and  sought  more  congenial  society. 

But  Gilbert  suffered  from  his  appetite  for 
strong  drink,  —  suffered  with  an  intensity  that 
no  one  guessed.  His  only  refuge  was  to 
refuse  all  drinks  at  table,  and  even  to  partake 
sparingly  of  water.  For  days  he  would 
agonize  with  this  feverish  thirst,  and  some- 

23 


434  BOUNDBROOE; 

times,  when  he  feared  to  go  out  into  the 
world,  would  beg  Robert  to  lock  him  in  his 
room,  and  there  besiege  the  throne  of  grace 
for  help. 

These  conflicts  grew  less  and  less  severe. 
His  normal  appetite  returned,  and  less  and 
less  he  craved  the  cup.  But  months  passed 
before  he  could  say,  "  I  am  free  from  this 
slavery." 

Meantime  there  was  many  a  helping  hand 
outstretched  for  his  aid.  Mr.  Irvin,  his 
employer,  advanced  him  to  the  situation  of 
clerk,  and  paid  for  his  tuition  at  an  evening 
school. 

The  spring  was  now  opening.  Robert  had 
said  no  more  to  Gilbert  on  the  subject  of 
seeing  his  uncle,  believing  it  would  not  be 
long  before  he  was  ready  to  go  to  them. 

One  nisrht,  not  Ions  after  the  conversation 

o        *  o 

just  given,  he  came  to  Robert.  He  had 
taken  pains  to  dress  himself  neatly,  and,  with 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  435 

his  really  good  countenance  lighted  up  by  a 

firm  resolution,  was  a  very  agreeable-looking 

»• 
young  man. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go  and  see 
Mr.  Marvin,  Robert,"  said  he,  entering. 
"  Will  you  go  with  me  ?  " 

"If  you  prefer  it,"  said  Robert  gladly. 
"  But  would  it  not  be  better  for  you  to  see 
them  alone  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.  Yes,  I  think  it  would.  Yet 
I  should  like  to  have  you  go  with  me." 

"  It  would  give  them  more  satisfaction  to 
see  that  you  came  of  your  own  accord,  Gil 
bert.  You  will  find  them  at  the  old  place, 
and  both  very  feeble." 

What  feelings  surged  in  Gilbert's  breast  as 
he  walked  up  the  old  tottering  stairway ! 
*  There  was  the  same  filth  in  the  rooms  around  ; 
and  even  one  or  two  of  the  same  dirty  faces 
that  had  been  so  disagreeable  to  him  when  a 
lad,  peered  out  at  the  doors.  Up  two  flights, 
he  stopped  at  the  old  familiar  door. 


436  BOUNDBEOOK; 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  and  then 
walked  in  without  knocking.  Who  had 
been  at  work  there  ?  The  floor  was  clean, 
the  walls  papered  ;  a  new  stove  stood  in  place 
of  the  old  one  ;  there  were  clean  white  cur 
tains,  a  neat  table,  and  chairs.  His  eyes  took 
this  in  at  one  glance.  There  was  a  bed  in  one 
corner.  That,  too,  he  had  never  seen  before. 
But  the  figure  of  the  man  that  lay  on  it,  he  had 
seen  that,  with  the  same  thin  sprays  of  gray 
hair  hanging  over  the  forehead,  the  same  weak, 
wavering  eyes,  and,  yes,  the  same  sharp 
twang  in  the  voice  ;  for  he  spoke  while  Gil 
bert  stood  unconsciously  staring  at  him. 

"  Who  be  yer  ?  "  said  he  vacantly. 

The  woman,  who  sat  near  by  with  her 
arms  folded,  now  slowly  put  on  a  pair  of 
spectacles,  and  came  up  to  Gilbert.  "  I  don't 
know  you,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Don't  you  know  me  ? "  said  Gilbert, 
forcing  himself  to  take  her  hand.  "  I  used 
to  call  you  mother,  Mrs.  Marvin." 


OR,   AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  437 

"  You  didn't ! "  she  returned  sharply. 
"  You're  not  the  boy  !  —  Jacob  !  "  she  con 
tinued,  going  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  "  this 
man  says  he  used  to  call  me  mother.  It's  not 
Gilbert !  Look  at  him,  and  see  !  " 

"  No,  you're  not  the  boy,"  she  went  on, 
nervously  walking  back  and  forth  between 
him  and  the  bed,  and  dividing  her  words 
between  her  husband  and  Gilbert.  "  You're 
not  the  Gilbert  that  I  used  to  get  supper  for 
o'  nights  ;  and  he  was  so  proud,  he  wouldn't 
eat  if  I  begged  the  victuals ;  and  then  he  went 
off  and  left  us.  No,  you're  not  the  boy. 
He  was  ragged  and  dirty,  and  "  — 

She  still  continued  to  vibrate  between 
Gilbert  and  the  bed  ;  and,  to  make  her  quiet, 
the  young  man  drew  her  chair  up  to  the 
bedside,  and  seated  her  in  it. 

"  You  had  a  boy  that  lived  with  you, 
didn't  you  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Marvin  stupidly  ;  and  the 
woman  echoed  "  Yes." 


438  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  And  don't  you  remember  he  did  not 
believe  you  were  his  own  father  and  mother ; 
and  you  insisted  that  you  were,  and  told  him 
to  go  to  Stockwell  and  find  out  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  didn't  believe  he  would  go ;  you 
hadn't  a  thought  of  it ;  but  he  left  you  one 
morning,  and  threw  some  money  into  your 
lap  before  he  went." 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

"  And  if  I  should  pull  my  hair  down  on 
my  face,  so,  and  have  on  those  ragged 
clothes,  and  old  straw  hat,  and  a  dirty  face, 
don't  you  think  I'd  look  like  that  boy? 
Besides,  who  else  should  know  all  these  little 
things  ?  Didn't  he  go  down  to  the  wharves 
every  day  ?  And  didn't  you  used  to  ask  him 
about  Mr.  Rushton  almost  every  night  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Marvin,  peering  into  Gil 
bert's  face  again,  —  "  yes,  it's  the  same  boy, 
Jacob.  I  see  his  eyes  now.  Jacob,  look  up  ! 
It's  Gilbert ;  it  it  Gilbert !  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        439 

"Hey?"  said  the  sick  man,  rousing  a  little, 
"is  it  Gilbert ?  Will  the  lad  forgive  us, 
wife  ?  "  He  relapsed  into  stupidity  again. 

"  Do  not  say  any  thing  about  that,"  said 
Gilbert,  interrupting  Mrs.  Marvin  as  she 
began  to  speak  :  "  I  know  all  that  now.  It 
might  have  been  worse  ;  and  I,  too,  need 
forgiveness." 

"  You  know  it  all !  "  cried  the  woman. 
"  Jacob,"  trying  to  rouse  him  again,  "  he 
knows  it  all :  he  will  forgive  us !  Do  you 
hear,  Jacob  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Marvin,  opening  his  dull 
eyes.  "  "Where's  the  little  girl  ?  It  was  a 
cold  night  to  leave  her." 

Mrs.  Marvin  looked  at  Gilbert.  He  shook 
his  head.  "I  do  not  understand  this,"  he 
said. 

"It  was  very  cold,"  the  sick  man  muttered, 
and  lost  himself  again. 

"  He  often  talks  like  this  when  he  is  stu 
pid,"  said  Mrs.  Marvin. 


440  BOUNDBROOK; 

Gilbert  had  sat  with  strained  ears.  Was 
he  to  hear  about  his  sister,  —  the  little  sister 
of  his  dreams  by  day  and  night  ?  And  yet 
was  he  ready  to  hear  it,  whatever  it  might 
be  ?  He  could  not  speak :  his  lips  seemed 
sealed.  Would  it  be  doing  justice  to  Robert 
to  ask  ?  If  she  was  good  and  lovely,  would 
it  not  be  better  to  wait  till  he  was  more  worthy 
of  her?  He  debated  with  himself  fiercely 
for  a  moment,  and  then  rose. 

"  Does  Robert  Bernhard,  who  comes  to  see 
you,  know  this  whole  story,  and  where  the 
little  girl,  my  sister,  is  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Marvin  returned,  with  some 
thing  of  the  old  look  of  fear  in  her  expres 
sionless  face.  "  You'll  not  harm  us  for  it, 
Gil?" 

"  Harm  you  ?  No,  no !  What  can  I  do 
for  yqu  to  help  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  nothing,"  she  returned. 
"  He  will  not  live  long  ;  and,  when  he  goes,  I 
shall  go  too." 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  441 

"  Where  will  you  go  ? "  asked  Gilbert 
seriously. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  returned,  scarcely  as 
if  she  had  heard  him,  and  beginning  to 
arrange  the  bed-clothes.  "  He  couldn't  do 
without  me,  nor  I  without  him.  I've  been 
kind  to  him  all  these  years.  We  had  better 
times  once." 

"  I  was  not  always  kind  to  you,"  said  Gil 
bert.  "  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  returned.  "  You  were 
pretty  kind.  We  ought  never  to  have  kept 
you  so.  The  little  girl  will  be  so  rich  !  and 
they  say  she's  beautiful." 

Gilbert's  heart  leaped,  and  then  stood  still. 
But  he  would  be  resolute,  and  not  hear  this. 

"  No,  do  not  tell  me  of  that ;  not  yet,"  he 
said  hurriedly.  "  Good-by.  I  will  come 
again." 

"  The  little  girl  rich  and  beautiful !  "  said 
the  young  man  to  himself  as  he  went  out  in- 


442  BOUNDBROOE; 

to  the  cool  air.  "I  can  never,  never  claim  her 
as  my  sister,  then.  I  must  never  know  her. 
O  God  !  have  I  sinned  so,  that  I  must  bear 
this  disappointment  ?  If  she  were  only  poor 
like  me  !  Rich  !  O  God,  pity  me  !  " 

He  wandered  on,  hardly  knowing  where 
he  was  going.  God  watched  over  the  young 
man  that  night,  or  he  would  have  sought  the 
wine-cup. 

Till  twelve  o'clock  he  paced  the  streets, 
and  came  to  himself  fully  only  when  the 
heavy  strokes  of  midnight  shook  the  air. 
He  drew  his  coat  more  tightly  about  him, 
and  stood  a  moment  in  soliloquy. 

"  Gilbert  Marvin,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"  will  you  be  a  fool  ?  "  Hasn't  God  made 
you  a  man  ?  Hasn't  he  taken  you  out  of  the 
pit  and  miry  clay,  and  put  your  feet  upon  a 
rock  ?  Hasn't  he  given  you  a  strong  body 
to  work  with,  and  brains  to  help  you  make 
your  way  in  the  world  ?  Get  down  on  your 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.         443 

knees,  right  here,  and  beg  him  to  forgive 
your  weakness." 

He  knelt  there,  just  where  he  was,  by  a 
flight  of  stone  steps ;  and  the  poor  heart 
that  was  trying  to  learn  strength  begged 
pardon  for  its  weak  discouragement,  begged 
for  power  to  make  himself  a  man,  good  and 
true  and  noble. 

The  serene  moon  and  stars,  with  the  heav 
enly  hosts  above,  were  all  that  looked  down 
upon  him ;  but  he  felt  the  silent  witness  of 
the  Spirit,  and  went  on  bis  way  tenfold 
stronger  for  the  conflict. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

WORDS   FOR  THE  MASTER. 

BOUT  this  time,  Robert  Bernhard 
called  at  Mr.  Rushton's,  and  returned 
him  the  money  he  had  not  used  after 
paying  Gilbert's  fine  and  some  expenses 
since.  But  Mr.  Rushton  laid  it  back  in  his 
hand. 

"  You  can  find  a  use  for  it  in  your  labors," 
said  he. 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Rushton,  most  grate 
fully,"  returned  Robert.  "  It  will  make 
many  hearts  glad." 

"  Perhaps  so,  in  your  hands,  my  friend. 
But  how  is  the  young  man  doing  ?  I  hear  a 

444 


AMY  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.  445 

pretty  good  account  of  him  from  my  friend 
Irvin." 

"  He  does  well,  I  think,  Mr.  Rushton," 
Robert  answered;  "as  well  as,  with  his  habits, 
we  might  expect.  I  think  he  is  gradually 
overcoming  them  in  the  strength  of  God." 

"  In  what  ?  "  asked  the  gentleman,  facing 
him  rather  curiously.  "  Do  you  convert 
everybody  that  comes  in  contact  with  you, 
Mr.  Bernhard." 

"  I  ?  No,  Mr.  Rushton  !  God  only  can  do 
that." 

"  Because,"  resumed  Mr.  Rushton  lightly, 
"  if  you  have  such  power,  it  will  be  well  for 
me  to  keep  away  from  you." 

Robert  looked  sober.  It  was  a  contrast 
with  his  usually  happy  face. 

"  Excuse  me,  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Rushton, 
grave  in  his  turn.  "  I  meant  to  say  nothing 
rude  or  unkind." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  !  I  did  not  feel  it  so.     It  dis- 


446  BOUNDBROOK; 

turbed  me  only  that  you  should  think  of  me 
instead  of  the  Lord,  whose  work  it  is  to  con 
vert  souls.  You  will  pardon  me,  Mr.  Rush- 
ton,  for  expressing  the  hope  that  you  will, 
before  long,  be  led  to  think  differently  of 
these  things." 

"  I  have  certainly  no  objection,"  returned 
the  gentleman,  who  seemed  to  be  in  a  mood 
to  argue  to-night,  "  to  your  expressing  the 
hope.  But  may  I  ask  you  why  you  use  that 
word  ?  What  right  have  you  to  any  hope  in 
the  case  ?  " 

Robert  could  hardly  divine  whether  he 
meant  to  quiz  him,  or  was  covering  up  some 
hidden  feeling  with  these  sallies. 

"  I  have,  sir,"  he  said  respectfully  and 
humbly,  "  the  right  to  believe,  that  whatever 
I  ask  of  the  Father,  in  faith,  he  will  give  it 
to  me." 

Mr.  Rushton  looked  at  him  searchingly. 
"  And  what  am  I  to  infer  from  that  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSETON'S  MISSION.  447 

"That  I  pray  for  your  conversion,  Mr. 
Rushton,"  said  Robert  gravely. 

"Pshaw!"    said    Mr.    Rushton,    walking 
away;  and  a  red  spot  glowed  in  either  cheek. 
But  he   came   back    presently    to  business. 
"  You  say  young  Marvin  is  doing  fairly  ?  " 
9  "  I  think  he  is,  sir." 

"  And  as  yet  has  no  clew  to  the  truth  ?  " 

"  No,  sir :  I  believe  not." 

"  It  is  best  so,  for  the  present,"  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  observed.  "  The  time  may  come  for  him 
to  know  all ;  but  you  can  understand  why  I 
would  rather  he  would  not.  By  the  way," 
he  asked  suddenly,  "  did  I  see  you  at  Elm- 
street  Church  one  Sunday  not  long  since  ?  " 

"  I  was  there,  sir." 

"  And  the  young  man  was  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"My  daughter  attends  there,"  said  the 
gentleman,  musing.  "  May  I  ask  if  you  and 
the  young  man  attend  regularly  ?  " 


448  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  We  do  not,  sir,  but  worship  at  a  mission 
chapel  connected  with  that  church." 

"  Yes."     Mr.    Rushton    seemed    relieved. 

"  You  went  to  hear  young  Ellery  ?  " 

i. 

"  It  was  my  chief  object  in  going,  sir." 

"  His  sermon  was  unique  and  deep,"  Mr. 
Rushton  remarked  presently.  "  But  the 
most  remarkable  thing  about  it  was,  that, 
the  farther  1  am  in  time  from  its  delivery, 
the  more  vividly  it  recurs  to  me.  I  am  not 
in  the  habit  of  listening  to  sermons ;  but  it 
seems  to  me  to  have  been  a  powerful  one." 

"It  seemed  to  me  full  of  unction,  Mr. 
Rushton,"  observed  Robert,  as  the  gentle 
man  paused,  — "  the  unction  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  He  evidently  lives  very  near  God." 

"  I  understand  the  church  has  called  him 
to  the  pastorate,  but  he  declines  to  accept 
it." 

"  Do  you  know  on  what  ground,  Mr. 
Rushton  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  449 

"  On  the  ground,  I  believe,  that  his  pres 
ent  place  has  too  large  a  claim  upon  him. 
He  has  no  desire  to  exchange  it  for  a  fashion 
able  city  church.  Well,  if  he  does  as  much 
to  raise  the  general  character  of  any  place  as 
he  did  at  Boundbrook  and  the  mills,  it  will 
be  a  benefit  to  the  world,  for  which  his  name 
ought  to  be  immortal." 

Robert  rose  to  go ;  and  Mr.  Rushton  him 
self  accompanied  him  to  the  door  with  a 
courteous  "  Good-evening ! " 

When  he  reached  home,  he  found  only 
Elsie  and  Oliver. 

"Where  is  Gilbert?"  he  asked. 

"He  has  just  gone,  uncle,"  Oliver  an 
swered. 

"Yes.  You  are  late  to-night,  brother," 
remarked  Elsie,  "  and  no  supper  yet,  poor  fel 
low  !  —  Oliver,  let  us  see  you  do  the  honors 
of  the  table  for  Uncle  Robert,  while  I  finish 
this  work." 

29 


450  BOUNDBROOK; 

Oliver  proceeded  to  pour  out  his  uncle's 
tea,  and  cut  bread  and  pie,  with  the  serene 
composure  of  a  Chinaman. 

"  There,  my  son,  that  will  do,"  interposed 
Robert,  smiling,  as  Oliver  sliced  the  fourth 
piece  from  the  white  loaf.  "  I  am  not  so 
intemperate  as  you  seem  to  suppose." 

Robert  finished  his  meal,  having  eaten 
sparingly ;  and  after  Oliver  had  gone  up  to 
his  room,  and  they  were  quite  alone,  Elsie 
asked  how  the  day  had  gone  with  him. 

"  Well  with  me,  sister ;  and  my  poor 
friend  at  the  prison  is  gone  home,  I  trust." 

"  The  one  you  took  Gilbert  to  see  ?  " 

"  The  same.     He  has  been  failing  long." 

"  And  how  was  he  at  last  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  reach  him  till  it  was  too  late, 
Elsie ;  but  the  turnkey  told  me  he  went 
quietly  and  consciously.  The  light  had  been 
gradually  dawning  on  his  mind  for  some 
time.  His  face  was  calm,  as  if  the  weariness 
was  all  over ;  and  I  thank  God  it  is." 


OR,  AMY  KUSHTON'S  MISSION.  451 

"  O  Robert,  what  a  privilege  you  have  to 
wait  on  these  sick  and  discouraged  and  sin 
ning  ones !  and  I  am  so  fettered  that  I  can 
not  help  in  any  such  work." 

"  Dear  sister,  you  take  care  of  me.  How 
could  I  live  but  for  you  ?  " 

"  But  I  could  go  out  and  relieve  you ;  and 
it  would  be  such  a  pleasure !  " 

"  But  if  it  were  not  your  right  place, 
dear,  you  would  take  no  pleasure  in  it. 
You  may  do  much  for  your  Lord  when  you 
are  at  Mr.  Rushton's." 

Her  eyes  filled.  "  I  know  I  am  selfish 
and  proud,  Robert ;  but  when  I  think  of 
your  work,  and  watch  Miss  Amy  almost  every 
day  go  out  with  her  little  girl  to  visit  the 
suffering,  I  do  so  want  to  fling  down  my 
sewing,  and  go  too !  And  to  be  obliged  to 
sit  there  and  listen  to  so  much  of  Mrs. 
Rushton's  vapid  talk !  " 

Robert  looked  pained.  "My  dear  sister, 
what  are  you  saying  ?  " 


452  BOUNDBROOK; 

She  burst  into  tears  at  this,  which  was 
something  very  unlike  Elsie.  Robert  drew 
her  work  away  from  her. 

"  There,  Elsie,  you  are  too  tired  to  work 
longer :  put  this  away.  It  is  hard  for  you,  I 
know,  dear.  What  shall  we  do  to  have  you 
freed  from  this  trial?  " 

"  It  is  very  foolish  and  wrong  in  me,"  said 
Elsie,  at  last,  trying  to  smile  through  her 
tears  ;  "  and  I  do  not  often  feel  so.  I  want 
more  of  your  patience  and  faith." 

Robert  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  often 
wished  I  had  more  of  yours,  Elsie.  But,  to 
come  back  to  the  point,  I  know  Oliver  is  a 
care  to  you,  with  all  your  sewing  and  other 
work.  Shall  we  send  him  away  ?  " 

"  Send  him  away  !  "  Elsie  looked  at  her 
brother  in  astonishment.  "  Send  Oliver 
away !  Indeed  we  will  not !  I  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Then  shall  I  go  ?  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  453 

"  O  Robert,  you  dear  old  fellow !  Don't 
talk  so  any  more.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself : 
indeed  I  am !  " 

u  You  need  not  be  ashamed,  Elsie.  You 
are  tired  out  to-night ;  and  that  is  the  cause 
of  these  tears.  But,  Elsie,  you  think  you 
can  not  do  such  work  as  I  do,  and  as  Miss 
Amy.  I  think  you  can  do  that  which  is 
equal  to  it." 
.  "  Why,  how,  Robert  ?  " 

"  In  your  sewing-room  at  Mrs.  Rushton's. 
You  see  many  there  sometimes.  Do  you 
always  remember  that  you  are  to  keep  your 
light  burning,  no  matter  where  you  are  ?  " 

"Robert,  I  do  sometimes  try  to  speak  a 
word  for  our  Master  with  the  girls  there ; 
but  it  would  be  very  much  out  of  place  with 
Mrs.  Rushton." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  Robert  replied. 
"  A  word  now  and  then,  spoken  respectfully, 
and  with  no  unbecoming  familiarity  —  what 


454  BOUNDBROOK; 

might  it  not  do  ?  You  want  to  work  for  the 
Lord  ;  then  you  must  not  be  afraid  to  show 
your  colors,  Elsie.  In  the  day  of  account, 
will  Mrs.  Rushton  have  occasion  to  say,  '  I 
never  knew  Elsie  Bernhard  was  on  the 
Lord's  side  '  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  only  her  poor  sewing-girl," 
said  Elsie  ;  and  the  tears  came  again. 

"  Was  Nathan,  the  poor  prophet,  afraid  to 
rebuke  King  David,  and  to  say,  '  Thou  art 
the  man '  ?  Dear  Elsie,  God  knows  neither 
rank  nor  condition.  With  love  in  the  heart, 
there  can  be  no  real  danger  of  seeming  ob 
trusive.  The  reason  professing  Christians 
sometimes  offend,  or  fail  of  doing  good,  when 
they  speak  of  personal  religion,  is  because 
it  is  not  done  with  real  love  and  feeling. 
The  world  is  not  easily  deceived.  It  is 
keen-eyed,  and  sees  straight  through  faint 
heartedness  and  hollowness  of  motive." 

"  Then,  if  my  heart  is  not  just  so  full  of 
love,  I  must  not  speak." 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  455 

"  Rather  say,  Elsie,  I  must  go  away  and 
wrestle  with  God  till  my  heart  gets  just  so 
full." 

"  But  how  shall  I  know  ?  " 

"When  the  'love  of  Christ  constraineth 
you,'  you  will  not  stop  to  ask  that  question, 
dear  sister."  There  was  a  silence  until 
Robert  asked,  "  You  are  not  willing  to  have 
Oliver  go  away :  what  are  you  doing  for 
him,  Elsie  ?  Are  you  forgetting  that  it  is  of 
more  consequence  that  you  should  act  the 
part  of  mother  and  teacher  to  him  than  to 
be  worried  and  fretted  over  your  work  ?  " 

"  I  am  forgetting  every  thing,  Robert," 
said  Elsie  sadly. 

"  No,  you  are  not,  dear,"  returned  Robert 
cheerfully.  "But  you  are  worn  out  with 
this  constant  care.  You  are  young,  and  need 
change  more  than  I  do.  Could  not  Mrs. 
Rushton  allow  you  a  vacation,  Elsie?  At 
any  rate,  I  will  see  what  can  be  done  about 
it," 


456  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  No,  you  shall  not,  dear  Robert,"  said 
Elsie.  "  You  forget  that  we  need  every  cent 
I  can  earn.  And  there  are  new  school-books 
to  buy  for  Oliver  now.  Poor  boy,  he  is  try 
ing  to  help  earn  them  chopping  wood  for  the 
neighbor  next  door;  but  it  will  be  slow 
work." 

"  All  these  difficulties  shall  not  stand  in 
the  way,  Elsie.  Some  sort  of  change  you 
shall  have.  I  am  not  afraid  that  God  will 
not  take  care  of  us.  Have  we  trusted  him 
so  far,  to  begin  to  doubt  now  ?  Cheer  up, 
Elsie:  the  way  will  surely  brighten.  But 
don't  forget  your  mission,  dear.  '  Be  instant 
in  season  and  out  of  season.'  Neither  fall 
into  the  error  of  laying  all  remissness  and 
lack  of  fervor  in  God's  service  to  mere  physi 
cal  condition.  We  can  not  always  control 
circumstances ;  but  we  need  not  let  them 
control  us.  Now,  Elsie,  for  your  encourage 
ment,  let  me  show  you  what  Mr.  Rushton 
has  done  to-night." 


OR,   AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  457 

He  spread  upon  the  table  a  roll  of  bank 
notes,  and  bade  her  count  them.  She  did  so 
rapidly. 

"  How  much,  Elsie  ?  " 

"  Almost  fifty  dollars.  It's  for  your  poor 
people,  I  know.  How  very  good  in  him  ! 
Why,  Robert,  it  is  really  wonderful  that  he 
should  have  done  this !  " 

"  So  it  is.  The  Lord  bless  him !  "  said 
Robert  warmly.  "  O  Elsie !  what  may  we 
not  hope  for  ?  And  shall  we  fail  to  do  our 
part  ?  "• 

"  There,  dear  Robert,  I  have  had  enough. 
I  am  humbled  and  ashamed  truly.  You 
shall  not  see  me  give  way  again.  But  don't 
try  to  get  a  vacation  for  me." 

On  that  point  Robert  kept  his  own  coun 
sel. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

IN  THE  SEWING-ROOM. 

MY,"  said  Mrs.  Rushton,  coming  to  her 
5  room  one  morning  not  long  after,  with 
a  face  of  absolute  distress,  "  what  shall 
I  do  ?  Bernhard's  brother  was  here  last  night ; 
and  actually,  before  I  knew  what  I  was  say 
ing,  I  promised  him  she  might  have  a  vaca 
tion  of  two  weeks.  He  says  she  is  quite 
worn  out.  And  now  what  shall  I  do? 
There  is  no  one  to  be  had." 

"  She  is  worn  out,  mother,"  said  Amy. 
"  I  have  noticed  for  some  time  that  she  was 
very  pale.  She  needs  rest.  And  we  can  do 
very  well.  Ellen  is  beginning  to  sew  nicely. 

458 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  459 

And  you  know  I  know  how  to  use  a 
needle." 

"  You  know  every  thing,  I  believe,"  said 
the  lady,  which  was  a  very  appreciative  re 
mark  for  her.  "  Poor  papa  never  would  let 
me  learn  to  sew.  He  considered  it  very 
unbecoming  in  a  lady  to  make  her  own 
clothes.  But  Mr.  Rushton  has  such  different 
ideas!" 

"  I  am  very  thankful  he  has,  mother," 
returned  Amy  mischievously,  and  not  with 
out  a  feeling  of  disrespect  for  the  "  poor 
papa."  "  And  Mrs.  Percival  thought  he 
was  quite  right :  so  I  learned  not  only  to  sew, 
but  to  sweep  and  cook  and  "  — 

"  Amy  Rushton !  "  exclaimed  the  lady 
languidly,  "don't  name  any  more  of  your 
accomplishments.  My  nerves  can't  bear 
such  a  shock  this  morning.  What  with 
Bernhard's  leaving,  and  all,  I  am  really 
quite  fatigued  with  excitement.  Sweeping 


460  BOUNDBROOK; 

and  cooking,  indeed !  "  And  she  watched 
Amy's  graceful  figure  in  idle  amazement,  as 
she  went  round  the  room  putting  things  in 
order. 

"Why  don't  you  have  Ellen  do  that?" 
she  asked. 

"  I  like  to  do  it,  mother.  Besides,  she  is 
busy." 

"  What  can  she  be  doing,  pray,  that  is 
more  important  than  your  work  ?  " 

"  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  show  you." 
Amy  led  the  way  to  the  next  room,  where 
Ellen  sat,  surrounded  with  paper  patterns, 
and  clothes  in  various  stages  of  progress. 
She  was  at  work  on  a  fawn-colored  merino, 
which  Mrs.  Rushton  recognized  as  one  Amy 
had  worn  on  first  returning  from  Mrs.  Perci- 
val's.  It  was  now  being  made  into  a  child's 
dressing-gown,  and  was  nearly  finished. 

"Whom  is  that  for?" 

"  For    the    little    boy   at     the     Orphans' 


OR,  AMY  PUSIITON'S  MISSION.  461 

Home,  little  Johnny  Caswell.  He  has  been 
an  invalid,  you  know,  all  winter,  but  seems 
a  little  better  now.  And  these  other  things 
are  for  various  people,"  continued  Amy  hap 
pily.  "Now,  mamma,  I  want  to  make  a 
bargain  with  you.  As  soon  as  Ellen  has 
finished  this,  go  down  to  the  Home  with 
me,  and  see  Johnny  have  it  on.  You  know 
I've  invited  you  before.  He's  a  sweet  little 
fellow.  And  then  Ellen  and  I  will  engage  to 
do  the  sewing  till  Miss  Bernhard  comes  back." 

"  What  makes  you  say  Miss  Bernhard, 
child  ?  It  is  not  a  sign  of  aristocratic  breed 
ing  at  all." 

"  But  I  am  not  aristocratic,  my  dear  mam 
ma,"  said  Amy  with  her  happy  little  laugh. 

Mrs.  Rushton  demurred  somewhat  at 
Amy's  proposal  to  go  to  the  Home,  but, 
after  a  little  more  coaxing,  consented.  What 
impression  she  received  may  be  best  known 
from  her  conversation  with  Mr.  Rushton  that 
evening. 


462  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  myself, 
Mr.  Rushton,"  she  said,  after  relating  the 
story  of  Johnny's  delight,  and  his  clinging 
affection  for  Amy.  "  I've  been  on  the  point 
of  crying  ever  since,  it  worked  so  on  my 
nerves.  Dear  papa  would  say,  '  Take  a  dose 
of  valerian,  Lucy.' ': 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  well,"  suggested  Mr. 
Rushton  mildly.  "  But  why  should  it  make 
you  cry  to  see  Johnny,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  !"  said  the  lady,  sighing, 
and  using  her  handkerchief  freely.  "He  is 
a  pretty  little  fellow,  that's  true,  and  did 
look  sweetly  in  the  wrapper.  But  he  talks 
so  bright,  and  so  strangely  too,  for  a  child." 

"  Why,  what  about,  Lucy  ?  " 

"About  any  thing  that  comes  up,  but 
mostly  about  —  I  can't  tell  you,  Mr.  Rush- 
ton.  Go  and  see  him  yourself." 

Mr.  Rushton  smiled.  "  I  have  been  to  see 
him  several  times,  Lucy." 


OR,  AMY  RUSUTON'S  MISSION.  463 

"  You  have  !  Well,  Ainy  has  been  asking 
me  to  go  all  winter.  Oh  !  about  that  Eng 
lish  gardener  she  has  been  talking  of  so  long ! 
Have  you  found  him  a  place  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  good  one.  And  he  does  well,  and 
brings  up  his  son  to  regard  Amy  as  a  sort  of 
household  saint." 

"Does  he,  indeed?"  said  the  lady.  "I 
suppose  she  likes  that." 

"  You  are  unjust,  Lucy.  She  does  not 
know  it,  and  if  she  did  would  be  very  sorry. 
But  I  am  waiting  to  know  what  Johnny 
talked  about,"  he  continued  with  a  mischiev 
ous  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Oh !  I  can't  tell  it.  What  did  he  talk 
about  when  you  saw  him  ?  "  replied  the  lady 
evasively. 

"  Sometimes  about  God  and  heaven  and 
his  mother,"  Mr.  Rushton  commenced  with 
a  voice  of  assumed  bravery.  But  he  was  no 
actor ;  and  his  tone  rather  died  away  at  the 
last. 


4G4  BOUNDDROOK; 

"  Then,  what  do  you  ask  me  for  ?  "  said  his 
wife,  looking  round  at  him,  for  he  was  not 
sitting  in  front  of  her.  "  I  declare,  John 
Rushton,  if  you  aren't  as  babyish  as  I  am  !  I 
thought  you  had  nerves  as  strong  as  steel. 
What  are  we  coming  to  ?  " 

For  the  next  two  weeks  Amy  and  Ellen 
took  up  their  station,  for  a  while  every  day, 
in  Mrs.  Rushton's  sewing-room ;  while  Mrs. 
Rushton  sometimes  complained,  sometimes 
tried  her  old  haughty  airs,  and  sometimes,  to 
Amy's  great  joy,  joined  in  healthy  talk,  and 
laughed  a  happier  laugh  than  she  had  ever 
heard  from  her.  In  truth,  this  had  been 
Amy's  chief  object  in  taking  this  step.  To 
be  with  Mrs.  Rushton,  to  get  interested  in 
her  little  interests  (wearing  as  this  sometimes 
was),  to  find  out  the  best  side  of  her  charac 
ter,  had  long  been  her  greatest  desire  ;  and 
so  she  had  hailed  with  joy  this  means  of 
accomplishing  it.  Ellen  looked  on  in  amaze- 


OR,  AMT  XUSHTON'S  MISSION.  465 

ment  to  see  with  how  ready  a  sympathy  she 
threw  herself  into  all  this,  but  with  native 
delicacy  said  nothing. 

Amid  it  all,  Amy  found  time  for  her  poor 
people  still ;  though  there  was  much  that  had 
to  be  laid  aside  for  a  time  of  more  leisure. 
It  was  often  a  disappointment,  but  met  cheer 
fully.  Once  Ellen  ventured  to  speak  of  it 
when  Mrs.  Rushton  was  out  of  the  room- 
"  We  would  be  in  a  hurry  with  these  gar 
ments  any  other  time,  wouldn't  we,  Miss 
Amy  ?  "  she  asked.  "  How  can  you  lay  them 
by  so  easily?  I  know  you  are  anxious  to 
begin  them." 

"  So  I  am,  dear,  and,  by  quick  work,  per 
haps  we  can  soon." 

"  But  dear  Miss  Amy,  if  it  would  not  be 
presuming  in  me  to  ask,  how  can  you  turn 
from  one  thing  to  another  so  cheerfully,  when 
it  is  really  a  disappointment  to  have  to  do 
so?" 

30 


466  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  I  did  not  know  I  did,  Ellen,"  Amy  re 
turned  after  a  thoughtful  silence.  "  I  have 
striven  to  acquire  the  habit.  I  want  to  be 
where  God  wants  me,  my  child.  Sometimes 
he  says,  '  Spend  your  time  for  these  poor 
children  of  mine  ; '  and  then  I  am  so  glad  to 
do  it !  But  if  he  says, '  Stop  and  take  up  this 
cross  a  little  while,'  ought  I  not  to  be  just  as 
ready  to  do  that?  And  now  the  cross  is 
beginning  to  be  a  pleasure." 

"  Dear  Miss  Amy,"  said  Ellen  gratefully, 
"  how  I  wish  I  could  be  just  as  forgetful  of 
self  as  you  are  !  " 

"Hush,  Ellen!  Come,  let  us  sing  a 
little !  "  When  Mrs.  Rushton  entered,  they 
WGIG  singing,  — 

"  Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee  I 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me, 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  467 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee  1 " 

Mrs.  Rushton  had  been  out  walking,  and 
came  in  with  a  remarkably  bright  face  for 
her.  "  I  met  Mary  Clay  and  Esther  when  I 
was  out,"  said  she.  "  Esther  does  not  look 
strong  yet." 

"  No.  I  am  afraid  she  never  will  be,"  ob 
served  Amy. 

"  But  Mary  —  I  never  saw  her  looking  so 
well ;  and  she  is  getting  to  be  as  plain  in  her 
dress  as  a  Quaker,  or  as  you  are,  which  is 
quite  as  bad.  She  wished  me  to  say  that  she 
would  call  on  you  by  and  by." 

"  I  am  so  glad  !  "  said  Amy  ;  for  it  had 
seemed  to  her,  of  late,  that  Mary  rather 
avoided  her. 

She  knew  the  reason  when  Mary  at  last 
came.  "  I  thought  I  would  try  to  be  sensi 
ble  like  you,"  said  Mary,  referring  to  her 
dress  ;  "  but  when  I  had  gone  so  far,  and 


468  J30UNDBROOK ; 

found  I  was  still  farther  than  before  from 
being  like  you  and  Esther,  ray  whole  proud 
nature  rose  up  against  it.  I  could  not  bear 
Esther's  kind  talk,  nor  your  pleading  eyes. 
I  felt  as  if  you  all  ought  to  commend  me  ; 
but  you  still  seemed  to  look  for  something 
deeper.  So  I  have  been  fighting  with 
myself  several  weeks." 

"  But  what  now,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Last  night,  I  went  out  alone,  sick  of 
myself  and  every  thing  and  everybody  else, 
and  strayed  into  a  prayer-meeting.  And 
who  should  be  there  speaking,  but  your 
seamstress's  little  hunchbacked  brother  !  Oh, 
how  he  did  talk !  It  was  just  what  I  needed. 
He  seemed  to  know  all  that  I  had  been 
thinking  of  all  this  time.  There  was  a 
young  man  with  him  too,  and  he  told  of  his 
terrible  conflicts  with  temptation."  Amy 
started,  thinking  of  Gilbert  Marvin.  "  It 
was  very  broken  ;  but  you  couldn't  but  feel 


OB,  AMY  BUSUTON'S  MISSION.  469 

that  God  had  been  dealing  with  him.  And  I 
felt,  If  he  requires  this  service  from  them, 
'  what  does  he  require  of  me  ?  Only  I  had 
held  out  so  long,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  in 
sulted  him  too  much.  But  if  he  could  help 
this  young  man  who  had  fallen  so  many 
times,  and  was  so  easily  led  to  sin,  I  felt  he 
would  not  refuse  me  too.  I  could  not  stay 
there.  I  went  out,  and  went  home.  I  locked 
myself  into  my  own  room,  and  solemnly 
promised  to  be  a  Christian,  with  God's  help." 

"I  do  not  need  to  ask  if  he  gave  you 
help,"  said  Amy  with  deep  joy,  watching  her 
friend's  countenance. 

"  He  did,"  continued  Mary.  "  I  am  sure 
of  it,  just  there  ;  and  I  might  have  known 
all  this  before."  She  hid  her  face  on  Amy's 
shoulder. 

"  But  we  will  never  cease  to  praise  him 
that  you  know  it  at  last,  dear  Mary." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

ELSIE'S  VACATION. 

lURING  the  two  weeks  of  Elsie's  vaca- 
tion,  she  was  busy  with  Robert's  many 
charges  when  she  could  leave  her  work 
at  home.  And  very  often  she  contrived  to 
do  this.  They  were  marked  days,  wherein 
she  learned  more  of  her  brother's  loved 
work,  his  kindness  and  wisdom  in  dealing 
with  different  natures,  his  sacrifices  for  the 
truth,  his  deep  religious  feelings,  and  his  suc 
cess  in  gathering  men  to  come  to  his  Master's 
feast,  —  days,  too,  that  exalted  her  own 
spirit,  gave  her  truer  ideas  of  life,  of  the  vast 
work  that  God  puts  into  his  children's  hands ; 

470 


AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  471 

so  that,  when  she  went  back  to  Mrs.  Rushton, 
she  could  bear  more  unweariedly  the  con 
stant  demands  upon  her  patience,  and,  re 
membering  how  God  loves,  could  even  love 
where  she  had  before  only  felt  a  half  scornful 
pity.  But  the  last  days  of  her  vacation  were 
momentous. 

Mr.  Marvin  had  been  failing  steadily,  until 
the  lamp  of  life  burned  so  feebly,  that  often 
they  thought  him  gone.  Robert  went  to 
him  every  day,  and  at  last  told  Elsie  that  she 
would  better  remain  with  them  until  the  last, 
as  it  was  not  well  to  leave  Mrs.  Marvin 
alone.  So  she  took  up  her  station  there  by 
day  ;  and  Oliver  went  untiringly  back  and 
forth  with  food  and  messages.  At  night 
Gilbert  relieved  Elsie ;  but  the  last  night 
came.  It  was  just  as  he  came  in  from  his 
day's  labor,  that  he  perceived  a  change,  and 
Elsie  had  not  yet  gone.  Robert  might  be  in 
at  any  moment ;  but  he  came  not,  and  the  girl 
found  it  hard  to  control  herself. 


472  BOUNDBROOK; 

"  I  have  never  seen  death,"  she  whispered 
to  Gilbert ;  "  and  I  am  sure  he  will  not 
breathe  long.  Oh,  if  Robert  would  only 
come ! " 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  Miss  Elsie,"  said  Gil 
bert  cheerfully.  "  Surely  it  can  not  be  a  hard 
struggle.  But  I  will  remain  alone  if  you 
wish  to  go." 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,"  she  returned  more 
quietly,  and  together  they  watched  the  feeble 
breaths.  Mrs.  Marvin  hung  over  her  hus 
band  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  as  she  had 
done  for  the  last  two  or  three  days  almost 
incessantly.  It  seemed  as  if  she  measured 
her  own  life  by  his.  She  refused  food,  and 
looked  wild  and  haggard. 

"  Mother,"  said  Gilbert  (he  had  returned 
to  his  old  habit  of  calling  her  mother),  "  do 
you  know  that  he  is  going  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  returned  sharply  but  feebly. 
"  Going  ?  yes ;  and  I  am  going  too.  You 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  473 

shall  not  hinder  me  !  I've  not  clung  to  him 
all  these  years  to  leave  him  now." 

"  Speak  to  her  of  Christ,  Gilbert,"  whis 
pered  Elsie :  "  ask  her  if  she  knows  him." 

Gilbert  leaned  over  to  her.  "  Mother," 
said  he,  "  do  you  know  Christ,  the  Saviour?  " 

"  Mr.  Bernhard  has  told  me  and  him  all 
that,"  she  answered,  pointing  to  her  husband. 

"  But  do  you  know  him  to  love  him  ?  Will 
father  go  to  him  ?  would  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered  in  her 
old  sharp  tone  again.  "  I  am  content  to  go 
with  Jacob." 

Elsie  turned  away.  It  was  more  than  she 
could  bear.  Gilbert  led  her  to  a  seat  at  the 
farther  side  of  the  room. 

"  Will  she  die  too,  do  you  think  ? "  she 
asked.  • 

"  It  may  be  before  long,  but  I  think  not 
yet.  Such  cases  are  not  uncommon  where 
two  have  clung  together  so.  His  was  the 


474  BOUNDBROOK; 

stronger  life  naturally,  and  hers  was  always 
bound  up  in  him." 

He  went  back  to  the  bedside.  Mr.  Mar 
vin  opened  his  eyes,  saw  clearly  his  wife 
bending  over  him,  and  Gilbert.  "Where's 
the  —  little  —  girl  ?  "  said  he  in  a  slow  whis 
per. 

Gilbert  put  his  face  down  to  his  ear.  "  She 
is  at  home,"  said  he.  "  It  is  all  well." 

Something  that  might  have  been  a  smile 
flitted  across  his  face  (they  could  not  tell), 
then  a  dark  shadow,  and  he  went  out  into 
the  unknown. 

Gilbert  went  round  to  Mrs.  Marvin. 
"  Come  with  me  now,  mother,"  said  he. 

"  No,"  she  said,  her  sharp  tone  changed  to 
a  husky  whisper.  "  Has  he  gone  ?  " 

Gilbert  did  not  answer.  She  sat  down 
upon  the  bed,  without  a  word,  and  gazed 
fixedly  at  her  husband.  Gilbert  went  over 
to  Elsie,  and  they  sat  in  silence  till  Robert 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.        475 

and  Oliver  came ;  and  then  Elsie  went 
home  with  Oliver. 

Robert  did  not  return  till  the  early  morn 
ing.  Elsie  was  up,  waiting  for  him. 
"  How  is  it,  Robert  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  she 
gone  too  ?  " 

"No,  dear.  She  sits  by  him  still." 
Robert  sat  wearily  down,  and  sighed. 

"  I  have  witnessed  many  such  scenes,  El 
sie,"  said  he  presently,  "  but  never  any  thing 
that  was  so  hard  to  bear  as  this.  I  have 
known  their  history  so  well,  have  seen  them 
in  such  good  circumstances,  have  understood 
so  clearly  what  they  might  have  come  to  be, 
and  then  to  witness  the  depth  to  which  they 
have  sunk,  the  imbecility  and  stupidity,  all 
resulting  from  wrong  steps  and  the  terrible 
effects  of  strong  drink.  Oh  !  if  every  young 
man  in  our  land  could  know  all  this  as  I 
have,  he  would  flee  from  the  accursed  cup 
for  ever." 


476  BOUNDBROOK; 

That  day  and  the  next  Elsie,  with  a  kind 
neighbor,  watched  with  Mrs.  Marvin;  but, 
as  the  second  night  drew  on,  they  saw  that 
they  would  not  be  needed  long.  The  poor, 
wretched,  but  still  devoted  wife  seemed 
to  have  consumed  her  own  life  in  watching 
the  wasted  frame  that  she  had  clung  to 
through  so  much  that  was  sorrowful  and 
trying. 

When  the  last  flicker  of  life  had  gone  out, 
Gilbert  and  Elsie  stood  beside  the  dead. 

"  Two  wasted  lives,"  said  Gilbert  sadly. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Elsie  returned.  "  God 
had  some  end  to  be  accomplished  in  keeping 
them  here  so  long ;  and  their  history  may 
stimulate  others  to  shun  the  evils  which 
crushed  them  down.  We  do  not  understand 
God's  purposes,  Gilbert." 

"  I  know  it,"  he  replied.  "  There  will  be 
a  time  when  all  things  shall  be  made  clear. 
God  grant  it  may  prove  that  all  this  has 
not  been  in  vain  for  me  I  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.          477 

In  her  heart  Elsie  echoed  his  prayer ;  but 
she  said  nothing. 

The  next  Monday  Elsie  went  back  to  her 
duties  with  a  brighter  eye  and  a  rosier  cheek, 
and  found  herself  warmly  welcomed.  She 
could  not  help  being  amused  at  Mrs.  Rush- 
ton's  gratuitous  account  of  the  hours  Amy 
and  Ellen  had  spent  in  the  sewing-room. 

"  I  really  believe,"  she  said  in  conclusion, 
"  that  Miss  Amy  took  it  up  half  in  fun ;  for 
the  sewing  was  not  so  much,  after  all,  and 
seemed  mere  play  to  them  both,  and  they 
were  as  gay  as  crickets."  Amy  was  entering 
the  room  at  the  time,  and  heard  it  all. 

"  My  dear  mother,"  said  she,  "  I  never 
did  any  thing  more  in  earnest  in  my  life. 
Gome,  I  want  you  to  go  out  with  me  to  see 
Johnny  again  this  morning." 

"  In  a  minute,  child.  Get  ready,  and.  I'll 
come.  You  may  leave  the  curtains  till  I 
come  back,  Bernhard.  Miss  Amy  has  really 


478  BOUNDBROOE, 

interested  me  in  a  little  orphan-boy,  who  is 
at  the  Home,  sick,  or  rather  convalescent ; 
and  I  am  foolish  enough  to  allow  myself  to 
be  dragged  out  occasionally  to  see  him. 
Have  you  ever  seen  much  sickness,  Bern- 
hard?" 

"  I  saw  both  sickness  and  death  last  week, 
Mrs.  Rushton,"  answered  Elsie. 

"  How  dreadful !  Some  of  your  brother's 
poor  people,  I  suppose.  How  could  you  go 
through  such  scenes,  and  come  back  looking 
so  much  better  ?  " 

The  lady  seemed  waiting  for  an  answer ;  and 
Elsie  replied,  — 

"  It  was  dreadful  in  one  sense,  Mrs.  Rush- 
ton.  It  was  the  case  of  a  husband  and  wife 
who  died  in  great  poverty,  and  within  two 
days  of  each  other,  —  two  poor,  shattered 
wrecks  both  physically  and  mentally." 

"  Dreadful ! "  said  Mrs.  Rushton  with  a 
shudder.  "I  can't  bear  to  think  of  death, 


OR,  AMT  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  479 

much  less  to  see  it.  Don't  such  things  affect 
your  nerves  seriously  ?  " 

"  I  can  not  tell,  Mrs.  Rushton,"  replied 
Elsie  respectfully,  "  how  it  would  affect  me 
if  I  could  not  look  beyond  to  God.  What 
can  we  do,  when  our  own  dying-hour  comes, 
without  him  to  lean  on?  " 

Mrs.  Rushton's  face  grew  a  shade  paler, 
and  she  passed  out  of  the  room  without 
replying.  But  Elsie  remembered  what 
Robert  had  said  to  her,  and  was  glad  she  had 
spoken. 

The  spring  passed ;  and  summer  came  on, 
with  its  reminder  that  Amy  was  to  spend  a 
portion  of  its  days  at  Boundbrook.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Rushton  seldom  left  the  city  for  any 
length  of  time.  It  was  the  only  thing  in 
which  Mrs.  Rushton  could  reconcile  herself 
to  being  unfashionable.  But  she  was  too 
querulous  to  leave  such  an  establishment  as 
theirs  even  to  a  long-tried  housekeeper; 


480  BOUNDBROOK; 

and,  except  an  occasional  short  trip  to  the 
seaside  or  mountains,  they  spent  their  sum 
mers  at  home. 

Amy  could  hardly  bring  herself  to  leave 
them,  or  her  needy  and  sick  people  scattered 
over  the  city.  How  grateful  she  felt  when 
Mr.  Rushton  offered  to  make  Robert  Bern- 
hard  acquainted  with  the  facts  of  their 
wants,  so  that,  although  most  of  them  were 
not  in  his  rounds,  he  might  interest  some  one 
for  them  !  And  she  was  sure  mother  would 
go  and  see  Johnny,  would  she  not?  The 
little  boy  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her 
already  ;  and  Mrs.  Rushton  —  yes,  even  the 
elegant  and  aristocratic  Mrs.  Rushton  —  had 
held  him  in  her  arms,  with  his  sweet,  intelli 
gent  face  pressed  against  her  costly  silk. 
But  the  time  came  for  leaving ;  and  one 
bright  morning  the  family  carriage  was 
brought  up,  and  Amy  and  Ellen,  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Rushton  as  escorts,  whirled  away 
to  Boundbrook. 


07?,   AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  481 

Delightful  days  were  they  there,  at  the 
precious  home  where  she  had  drunk  in  her 
first  knowledge  of  God ;  where,  under  her 
friends'  judicious  culture  and  religious  train 
ing,  she  had  grown  steadily  into  the  "  abiding 
peace "  of  the  Christian ;  where  the  little 
sabbath  school  had  kept  her  dancing  spirits 
subdued  on  many  a  sabbath  evening ;  where 
Mr.  Ellery  had  talked  with  her  so  kindly 
and  sympathetically ;  where  her  version  of 
the  "old,  old  story,"  had  been  told;  and 
where,  in  the  summer  that  followed,  the 
converts  to  the  faith  of  Christ  had  been 
multiplied  as  those  "  that  fly  as  a  cloud,  and 
as  doves  to  their  windows." 

The  schoolhouse,  in  its  outside  dimen 
sions,  was  quite  overshadowed  now  by  the 
church  edifice  that  towered  near  by;  but 
Amy  felt  that  the  new  place  of  worship 
could  never  be  so  dear  to  her  as  the  old,  for 
there  the  truth  had  come  to  her  from  Mr. 

31 


482  BOUNDBROOK. 

Ellery's  lips,  and  Maggie's  feet  had  crossed 
the  threshold. 

The  gray  stone  cottage  still  stands  in  its 
dress  of  moss,  and  the  blue  river  glides  in 
front.  The  pet  lanib  of  Amy's  childhood 
has  gone  ;  but  there  is  always  one  youthful 
descendant  to  keep  her  memory  green,  with 
which  Amy  can  renew  her  undignified  races 
in  the  cool  mornings.  Then,  too,  Bertram 
Morley  is  at  home  during  his  vacation  at  the 
seminary ;  and  Mr.  Ellery  finds  time  to  leave 
his  people  for  a  short  visit.  So  there  is  no 
lack  of  youthful  buoyancy  mingled  with  the 
quiet  and  deeper  enjoyment  of  1  appy  Chris 
tian  society. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

NEW  RELATIONSHIPS. 

| 

UMMER  was  over  ;  and  in  early  Sep 
tember  the  carriage  came  for  Amy 
and  her  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Perci- 
val~to  be  conveyed  to  Cummington  Square. 
It  was  dark  when  they  reached  the  house ; 
but  it  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and,  as  the  car 
riage  halted,  Amy's  eyes  caught  the  figures 
of  her  father  and  mother  in  the  doorway. 
Mr.  Rushton  ran  down  the  steps,  and  lifted 
her  out.  "  My  precious  child !  "  he  said  in  a 
low  voice  that  nobody  but  Amy  heard.  Then 
he  assisted  Mrs.  Percival  and  Ellen  to  alight ; 
while  Amy,  begging  pardon  for  her  impa- 


483 


484  BOUNDBROOK; 

tience,  ran  up  the  steps.  Had  she  seen  a 
little  figure  flitting  about  among  the  others  ? 

Mrs.  Rushton  met  her  with  a  warm  greet 
ing.  "  We  have  been  really  lonely  without 
you,  my  dear  Amy,"  she  exclaimed.  "  And 
it  seems  good  to  see  you  here  again,  looking 
so  well ;  though  your  cheeks  are  not  quite 
delicately  tinted  enough  for  beauty." 

Amy's  happy  laugh  rang  out.  "  These  are 
country  cheeks,  mother.  But  I  thought  I 
saw  a  little  child's  figure  here  when  the  door 
opened." 

Mr.  Rushton  had  entered  now  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Percival ;  and  Amy,  not  waiting  an 
answer  to  her  question,  glanced  round,  and 
discovered  a  little  foot  peeping  out  from  be 
low  a  door.  She  cautiously  went  up  to  it. 
A  bright  intelligent  face  next  peeped  out. 

"  Johnny,  my  Johnny ! "  she  cried  joy 
fully,  catching  him  in  her  arms.  "  You  little 
butterfly !  when  did  you  burst  your  shell  ? 
My  little  darling !  " 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  485 

Half  laughing  and  half  crying,  she  took 
him  to  her  father. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  father  ?  What  is 
it,  mother  ?  " 

"  He  is  mother's  boy,  Amy,"  said  Mr. 
Rushton.  "  She  has  the  whole  story." 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  lady. 

"  Oh  !  I  never  could  tell  a  story,"  returned 
she,  embarrassed  for  almost  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  "We  were  lonely,  and  we  liked 
the  little  fellow  ;  and  so  we  have  taken  him, 
and  named  him  John  Rushton.  And  that's 
all  the  story  there  is  to  it.  Mrs.  Gay,  will 
you  show  these  friends  to  their  room  ?  " 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival  went  up  stairs ;  but 
Amy  let  Johnny  go,  and  flung  her  arms 
about  Mrs.  Rushton's  neck. 

"  There,  you  foolish  girl !  "  said  the  lady 
at  last.  "  Johnny  is  wondering  to  see  you 
cry.  And  my  nerves  are  not  quite  strong 
yet.  Go  to  J  our  father." 


486  BOUNDBROOK; 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rushton  had  really  adopted 
the  little  orphan.  How  much  of  sunshine 
came  into  the  house  with  him,  they  whose 
homes  are  blessed  with  little  children  will 
know. 

A  month  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival  were 
honored  guests  at  Cummington  Square,  and 
then  returned  to  take  up  their  quiet  life  at 
Boundbrook,  where  Mr.  Percival  continued 
to  study  and  write,  as  had  long  been  his 
•wont,  for  the  leading  scientific  and  literary 
journals  of  the  day. 

"  What  a  work  Amy  has  done  there  !  " 
was  Mrs.  Percival's  first  remark  as  they 
rode  away.  "  Dear  child !  It  is  because 
she  is  such  a  happy,  working  Christian.  How 
little  Mr.  Rushton  foresaw  that  he  was,  as  it 
were, '  entertaining  an  angel  unawares,'  when 
he  took  her  from  the  street !  " 

"  God's  providences  are  wonderful,  won 
derful  ! "  said  Mr.  Percival  meditatively. 


OR,  AM7  SUSHTON'S  MISSION.  487 

"  A  wheel  within  a  wheel,  turning  continu 
ally,  and  involving  such  varied  complica 
tions.  Who  knows  but  that  God  means  by 
this  to  bring  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rushton  into 
the  fold?" 

Amy  had  by  no  means  been  idle  at  Bound- 
brook,  and,  as  soon  as  she  reached  home,  had 
taken  up  her  work  among  the  poor  again. 
In  one  of  her  walks,  about  this  time,  she 
passed  Gilbert  Marvin  on  the  street.  Once 
she  had  seen  him  before,  and  now  recognized 
him  instantly.  He  did  not  appear  to  see 
her,  and  passed  on  with  his  somewhat  dig 
nified  air ;  but,  out  of  her  sight,  he  leaned 
against  a  fence,  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  He  felt  himself  too  unworthy  to 
look  at  her.  And  yet  why  was  it,  that,  every 
time  he  thought  of  the  sister  that  might  be 
waiting  for  him  somewhere,  his  mind  would 
fasten  itself  on  Amy  Rushton  ?  Not  long 
ago  he  had  heard  that  she  was  an  adopted 


488  BOUNDBEOOK; 

child.  "  Rich  and  beautiful,"  Mrs.  Marvin 
had  said.  He  did  not  know  whether  Miss 
Rushton  was  beautiful  or  not.  He  never 
could  recollect  any  thing  about  her  face, 
except  the  sweet,  childish  mouth,  and  pitying 
eyes.  But  no,  the  wild  thought  that  flashed 
over  him  could  not  be  true.  It  was  an  insult 
to  her,  for  which  he  despised  himself. 

That  evening,  quite  early,  Amy  went  to 
Mr.  Rushton.  "  Are  you  very  tired  to 
night,  father?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  darling." 

"  Would  you  go  out  with  me  a  little  while 
to  a  prayer-meeting  ?  "  she  asked  doubtfully. 

Since   Mr.    Rushton   first    attended   Elm- 

• 

street  Church  to  hear  Mr.  Ellery,  he  had 
once  or  twice  entered  its  walls  again.  But 
this  was  going  a  little  too  far. 

"  Nonsense,  my  child !  "  said  he.  "  You 
know  my  weak  points,  and  that  I  never 
refuse  you  any  thing.  How  could  you  have 


OR,  AMT  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.  489 

the  courage  to  ask  this  ?  John  Rushton  at  a 
prayer-meeting  indeed ! "  Amy  caught  the 
slight  curl  of  his  lips  as  he  spoke.  - 

"  Father,"  said  she,  and  it  seemed  as  if  her 
heart  stopped  beating  for  the  moment,  "  John 
Rushton  will  have  to  stand  in  the  judgment." 

From  some  lips  the  words  might  have 
fallen  harshly  ;  not  so  from  hers,  though  they 
were  uttered  with  a  power  that  made  the 
man  start  inwardly.  But  such  tenderness 
and  grief  Mr.  Rushton  had  never  seen  in  her 
face  before.  It  was  no  affectation  of  tender 
ness,  no  sentimental  grief.  Her  face  and 
words  were  alike  honest. 

"  Pshaw !  "  A  bright  spot  glowed  in 
either  cheek,  as  once  before  when  Robert 
Bernhard  had  been  talking  with  him.  But 
he  was  not  angry.  "  Go  and  get  yourself 
ready,"  said  he,  turning  away  from  her. 

"  What  courage  she  has,  in  spite  of  her 
sweet  innocence !  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  Who 


490  BOUNDBROOK; 

else  would  have  dared  say  that  to  me,  unless  it 
were  Robert  Bernhard  ?  — '  John  Rushton  will 
have  to  stand  in  the  judgment?  Strange  all 
the  arguments  I  fix  in  mind  on  these  points 
are  scattered  by  one  word  or  look  of  hers  ! 
There's  one  thing  about  it,  John  Rushton,  if 
there  is  any  thing  in  all  this,  you're  a  fool, 
and  a  fool  of  fifty  years'  growth  too." 

He  went  to  the  prayer-meeting.  It  was  a 
simple  vestry-talk,  that  the  Christians  there 
were  enjoying  that  evening.  Robert  Bern- 
hard  and  Gilbert  Marvin  were  both  present, 
sitting  some  distance  in  front  of  the  seat 
which  Mr.  Rushton  and  Amy  occupied. 
Gilbert  spoke,  in  a  few  humble  but  earnest 
words,  of  the  wonderful  love  of  God  §hown 
to  him  of  late.  Would  he  have  had  courage 
for  such  a  pleasure  and  duty,  had  he  known 
that  Amy  Rushton  was  there  ? 

In  going  out,  absorbed  in  thought,  he  came 
directly  in  her  way.  He  could  not  but  know 


OR,  AM7  RUSHTON 'S  MISSION.  491 

her  anywhere.  He  recovered  himself,  and 
passed  on  hurriedly,  but  not  till  he  had 
caught  her  glance.  Then  she  remembered 
him  too.  And  it  was  not  pity  now  in  her 
eyes.  What  was  it  ?  A  sweet,  genial  sym 
pathy.  Even  in  that  startled  moment, 
Gilbert  knew  by  the  light  in  her  face  that 
Amy  Rushton  was  a  Christian. 

"  Amy,"  said  Mr.  Rushton  on  their  way 
home,  "you  remembered  young  Marvin,  I 
saw." 

"  I  should  always  have  known  him  in  any 
place,  father ;  but  I  expected  to  see  him 
there." 

A  pause.  "  He  talks  somewhat  hesi 
tatingly,  Amy." 

"  But,  O  father,  to  think  of  his  talking  at 
all !  And  he  is  only  a  child  in  the  Christian 
life.  How  much  pleasanter  to  hear  such 
words  than  none  !  " 

"  That  may  be,"  Mr.  Rushton  replied 
lightly. 


492  BOUNDBROOK; 

They  went  into  the  house  ;  but,  instead  of 
going  away  to  her  room,  Amy  sat  down  by 
her  father. 

"  Father,"  she  asked  soberly,  "  has  the 
time  come  yet  for  me  to  know  all  that  you 
do  of  my  history  before  you  found  me  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  just  now,  dear  ?  " 

"  Because,  father,  I  can  never  free  myself 
from  the  strange  impression  I  have  always 
had  in  regard  to  young  Marvin.  It  deepens 
continually.  There  is  a  vague  sense  of  some 
thing,  I  can  not  define  it,  which  makes  me 
feel  that  he  is  nearer  to  me  than  others :  your 
interest  in  him  only  increases  this  feeling. 
Father,  if  I  had  ever  been  told  that  I  had  a 
brother  anywhere,  I  should  believe  it  was 
Gilbert  Marvin." 

Clear  and  straightforward  as  she  always 
was,  Mr.  Rushton  felt  it  was  no  time  to 
evade  the  question.  He  did  not  know  how 
truly  his  face  had  answered  it  already. 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  493 

"  It  is  true?"  she  said,  with  one  of  her 
steady,  searching  looks  at  him. 

"  Should  you  be  glad,  or  sorry,  if  it  were, 
Amy?" 

"  Glad,"  was  her  instant,  joyful  reply.  "  I 
can  not  tell  you  how  glad  !  Then  it  is  true ; 
and  Gilbert  Marvin  is  my  brother !  O 
father !  " 

The  next  evening  Mr.  Rushton  with 
Robert  Bernhard  went  to  Gilbert's  room ; 
and,  without  any  formality,  they  made  the 
young  man  acquainted  with  the  fact  of  his 
relationship  to  Amy.  "  It  is  wholly  owing  to 
her  own  interest  in  you,"  Mr.  Rushton  said 
in  conclusion,  "that  I  have  become  willing 
to  make  this  disclosure.  Of  myself,  I  frank 
ly  admit  that  I  should  not  have  done  it  at 
present.  Be  grateful  to  her,  not  me,  for  the 
knowledge  that  you  have  a  sister  such  as, 
it  seems  to  me,  never  any  young  man  had 
before." 


494  BOUNDBEOOK; 

Gilbert  could  not  speak.  The  tide  of 
feeling  that  rushed  over  him  was  too  strong. 
He  tried  to  be  manly,  and  control  himself ; 
but  his  attempts  were  vain.  He  wept  like  a 
child.  "  I  am  not  fit  to  be  her  brother,"  he 
said,  finding  his  voice  at  last.  "  I  am  not 
fit  to  speak  her  name.  If  she  knows  me, 
she  can  only  despise  me  for  being  her 
brother." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,  Gilbert,"  said  Mr. 
Rushton.  "  You  do  not  know  her  yet.  If 
I  remove  all  obstacles  in  the  way  of  her  see 
ing  you  frequently,  if  you  can  prove  your 
self  to  be  actuated  by  earnest  desires  to  be 
a  worthy  man,  no  recollection  of  the  past  shall 
have  weight  with  us.  You  shall  come  to  us 
freely.  I  say  this  for  her  sake  and  yours. 
And  if  she  shall  be  such  a  sister  to  you  as 
she  has  been  daughter  to  me,  and  you  can  not 
rise  to  all  the  manhood  possible  to  you,  then 
you  are  not  worthy  of  any  sister." 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  495 

Gilbert's  stronger  nature  began  to  assert 
itself.  "  Mr.  Rushton,"  he  said  humbly,  "  in 
God's  strength  I  have  been  trying,  for  a  year 
past,  to  be  a  man.  I  do  not  know  what  you 
think  of  these  things ;  but  God  is  my  only 
helper.  The  thought  of  her  pity  for  me, 
when  a  little  child,  has  often  come  to  me 
when  I  have  been  going  down,  and  made  me 
long  to  be  as  innocent  as  she.  God  knows  I 
hold  her  in  as  pure  and  deep  respect  as  ever  a 
brother  could  a  sister.  And  if  you  can  trust 
me  with  this  knowledge,  knowing  what  I  am, 
if  you  can  trust  me  to  see  her,  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world,  I  feel,  that  I  could  not 
strive  for." 

Mr.  Rushton  grasped  his  hand,  and  shook 
it  heartily.  "  To-morrow  evening  come  to 
my  house,"  said  he,  "  and  you  shall  see  her." 

Gilbert  went.  Those  were  trying  mo 
ments  when  he  stood  in  Mr.  Rushton's  ele 
gant  library  alone,  waiting  the  coming  of  his 


496  BOUNDBROOK ; 

sister,  the  sister  of  his  dreams  for  so  many 
years,  sleeping  or  waking ;  for  had  not  his 
sister  and  Amy  Rushton  always  been  one  to 
him? 

There  was  a  light  step  near,  and  he  turned 
with  a  quick  start.  The  serene,  tender  face, 
all  astir  with  sympathy,  and  shy  amid  it  all, 
was  close  by  him ;  and  a  trembling  hand  was 
reached  out  to  him. 

"  You  are  my  brother,"  she  said.  But 
Gilbert  was  speechless.  Was  it  a  dishonor 
to  his  manliness  that  he  had  neither  voice 
nor  language  at  command  ?  Nor  did  they 
come  to  him,  hardly,  throughout  the  evening. 
It  was  such  a  strange  joy  to  look  in  her  lov 
ing  face,  and  assure  himself  that  this  was  his 
longed-for  sister,  such  a  humiliation  to  feel 
what  he  was  beside  her,  such  a  weight  of 
gratitude  to  the  dear  Lord  who  had  first 
redeemed  his  wandering  feet,  and  now 
brought  him  to  this  wonderful  moment, 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  497 

that  words  would  have  been  nothing  to  tell 
it  all. 

So  he  sat  with  her  for  an  hour,  while  she 
sometimes  was  silent  too,  and  sometimes 
talked  with  serene  happiness,  telling  him  of 
her  joy  that  they  had  found  each  other,  and 
of  her  trust  in  him,  that,  through  God's 
help,  he  would  redeem  all  the  past,  and 
become  an  honorable  man  and  a  true-hearted 
Christian.  Then  she  brought  him  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Rushton. 

82 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


A    FIERCE    STEUGGLE. 

R.  RUSHTON  manifested  a  kind 
feeling  toward  Gilbert,  for  which  he 
was  very  grateful.  He  could  now 
go  two  evenings  in  the  week,  unquestioned 
and  undisturbed,  to  spend  an  hour  or  so  in 
the  society  of  the  sister  who  grew  to  be  every 
thing  to  him.  Little  as  he  felt  himself  beside 
her,  he  never  left  her  without  feeling  that  a 
better  life  was  possible  even  to  him  ;  never 
sat  with  her  a  moment,  that  he  did  not 
sensibly  feel  that  her  influence  drew  him 
heavenward.  It  was  not  so  much  what  she 
said,  for  she  never  preached  to  him :  it  was 

498 


AMY  RUSUTON'S  MISSION.  499 

her  delicate  understanding  of  his  temptations, 
which  her  work  among  the  poor  and  lowly 
had  helped  her  to  feel,  and  her  whole-souled 
interest  in  every  thing  and  everybody,  for 
the  sake  of  the  dear  Master  she  lived  to 
serve.  So  Gilbert  grew  through  her  com 
panionship,  and  perhaps  she  no  less  through 
his. 

Mr.  Rushton  invited  him  once  to  dine 
with  them,  and  again ;  but  the  second  time 
Gilbert  did  not  come ;  a  third  time,  and  he 
was  absent.  Mr.  Rushton  went  to  Amy. 

"  Amy,"  he  said,  "  your  brother  should  be 
careful  how  he  slights  these  invitations  to 
dine  with  us.  I  want  to  treat  him  as  your 
brother ;  and  for  your  sake  he  ought  not  to  be 
uncivil.  It  can  not  be  that  he  is  weary  of 
you.  Is  he  likely  to  fall  back  into  his  old 
ways  ?  " 

A  deep  pain,  such  as  Mr.  Rushton  had 
never  seen  in  her  countenance,  settled  upon 


500  BOUNDBROOK; 

it.  She  grew  white  even  to  her  lips,  and 
with  that  old,  well-remembered  motion  of  her 
childish  days,  her  hands  went  up  to  shield  her 
face.  But  she  spoke  presently.  "  No,  fa 
ther  :  I  have  no  reason  to  think  he  is.  He 
comes  to  see  me  as  usual." 

"  Is  he  becoming  careless  in  trying  to  im 
prove  himsel-f?  I  was  beginning  to  hope 
much  for  him." 

"  No,  I  think  not,  father."  Still  her  voice 
was  troubled,  and  her  face  was  hidden.  Mr. 
Rushton  quietly  drew  her  to  himself.  "  My 
dear  child,  what  makes  you  tremble  so  ? 
Have  I  not  a  right  to  know  what  is  the  cause 
of  this?  It  is  not  like  you,  Amy."  It  was 
not  like  her.  Yet  how  could  she  tell  the 
burden  that  had  lain  upon  her  for  the  weeks 
that  had  passed  since  Gilbert  was  first  invited 
to  dine  there,  and,  yes,  for  weeks  and  years 
previous,  at  times.  It  was  the  only  point  at 
which  her  courage  had  ever  failed  her. 


07?,  AMY  ItUSHTON'S  MISSION.  501 

"  Aniy,"  asked  Mr.  Rushton,  "  do  you 
know  why  Gilbert  refuses  to  dine  here  ?  " 

"  He  has  told  me  no  reason,  dear  father." 

"  Have  you  any  suspicion  of  the  reason  ?  " 

She  tried  to  force  herself  to  answer 
steadily;  but  her  words  were  tremulous  in 
spite  of  her  efforts.  "  Yes,  father." 

"  Then  I  must  know  it,  must  I  not  ?  "  he 
asked  gently. 

"  Father,  dear  father,  do  not  think  me  pre 
suming.  I  have  felt  I  could  never  speak  to 
you  of  this,  you  have  been  such  a  dear 
loving  father  to  me  ;  but  it  has  troubled  me 
for  years,  and  it  seems  more  dreadful  to  me, 
now  that  I  know  how  it  has  been  the  cause 
of  so  much  misery,  and  how  nearly  Gilbert 
has  been  ruined  by  it.  I  think  this  is  the 
reason  why  he  stays  away,  though  he  has 
never  said  it." 

"  Amy,  my  darling,  your  meaning  is  hard 
to  make  out.  What  do  you  mean  ?  Is  it 
possible  that "  — 


502  BOUNDBROOK ; 

Mr.  Rushton  looked  blank  for  a  moment, 
and  then  the  red  blood  mounted  to  his  tem 
ples.  "  Amy,  child,  is  it  possible  ?  Do  you 
mean  the  wine  on  the  table  ?  " 

She  was  herself  now,  calm  and  steady. 
"  Yes  ;  and  O  father,  think  of  Johnny  !  " 

Mr.  Rushton  sat  troubled  and  silent.  His 
clear-seeing  mind  took  it  all  in  at  a  glance, 
both  past  and  future. 

"  Well,  Amy,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  have 
yielded  up  several  of  my  strongholds  already. 
I  have  tolerated  your  religious  peculiarities, 
I  have  gone  to  your  poor  people's  houses,  I 
have  been  to  church,  I  have  been  to 
prayer-meeting ;  and  now,  forsooth,  I  must 
give  up  my  wine.  It's  a  pretty  pass !  Am 
I  to  be  turned  around  by  such  a  little  wisp  as 
you  are  in  every  thing  ?  " 

He  spoke  half  gravely,  half  lightly ;  and 
Amy  could  not  tell  whether  he  were  offended 
or  not.  She  asked  the  question  almost  as  if 
all  her  earthly  happiness  depended  upon  it,  — 


OB,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  503 

"  Father,  are  you  angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  Angry,  my  sweet  child,  angry  with  you ! 
Never  ask  me  that  question  again,  and  I  shall 
not  be.  No,  dear  child,  no !  But  go  away 
now,  and  let  me  think  of  this  matter." 

He  walked  the  room  after  she  had  gone 
out.  "  Now,  John  Rushton  "  (he  was  in  the 
habit  of  apostrophizing  himself  thus  as  he 
walked),  "  you've  another  account  to  settle 
with  yourself;  and,  if  these  things  are  so, 
then  you're  a  greater  fool  than  I've  suspected 
you  of  being  already." 

Pride  and  conscience  had  a  fierce  strife  in 
the  man's  breast  for  weeks.  Oh  !  it  was  hard 
to  give  up  the  luxury,  the  rich  sparkling 
wine,  and  banish  it  from  his  sideboard.  Mr. 
Rushton  had  too  much  good  sense  not  to  see 
all  that  was  involved  by  his  persistence  in 
adhering  to  his  life-long  custom.  But  pride 
held  her  own  bravely  for  a  while.  Bright 
little  Johnny  sat  at  the  sumptuous  table,  and 


504  BOUNDBROOK  ; 

had  always  been  helped  to  whatever  was 
needful  and  proper.  How  often  his  eyes  had 
wandered  to  the  forbidden  wine  with  all  a 
child's  eager  longing  for  the  untasted  luxury  ! 
Once  or  twice  he  had  ventured  to  say, 
"  Please,  papa,  may  I  have  just  a  little  ?  " 
But  Mr.  Rushton  had  had  sufficient  firmness 
to  refuse  the  little  pleader. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  you,  Johnny,"  he  said 
one  day  about  this  time,  seeing  the  child's 
questioning  look. 

"  But  it  is  good  for  papa ;  and  you  said, 
the  other  day,  men  were  only  big  boys." 

Mr.  Rushton  flushed  slightly. 

"  Papa,"  said  Johnny,  after  a  moment's 
profound  consideration  of  the  subject,  "  you 
don't  have  to  mind  anybody,  do  you  ?" 

"  No,  my  son." 

"  And  I  sha'n't  have  to  mind  anybody 
when  I  grow  up,  when  I  am  a  big  boy  like 

you?" 


OR,  AMY  RUSIITON'S  MISSION.  505 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  laughing  a  little 
uneasily. 

"  Then  I'll  drink  the  sweet  wine  and  the 
champagne ;  and  I'll  begin  just  as  quick  as  I 
don't  have  to  mind  anybody." 

"  But,  Johnny,"  interrupted  Mr.  Rushton, 
"  suppose  Sister  Amy  didn't  want  you  to." 

Amy  sat  at  Johnny's  side.  His  bright 
eyes  sought  hers. 

"  Sister  Amy,  wouldn't  you  ever  want  me 
to  drink  it  ?  Would  you  be  sorry  if  I  did  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Johnny.    I  should  be  very  sorry." 

"  If  I  ever  did  drink  it,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Johnny." 

He  was  puzzled,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  ;  but  his  ready  intuition  kept  him  from 
speaking  the  thought  that  was  uppermost. 
He  contented  himself  with  saying,  as  he 
looked  again  regretfully  at  the  wine,  "  I  am 
sorry  you  wouldn't  like  it,  Sister  Amy.  I'm 
afraid  I  shall  drink  lots  of  it  when  I  don't 
have  to  mind  anybody." 


506  BOUNDBROOK; 

Amy  bent  down  to  him,  and  spoke  very 
low.  "  Johnny,  didn't  you  tell  me,  the  other 
day,  you  wanted  to  please  God  always  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sister." 

"  But  suppose  it  didn't  please  God  to  see 
you  so  determined  to  drink  the  wine,  could 
you  try  not  to  think  about  it  ?  " 

"  Would  it  make  God  sorry  ?  "  he  asked, 
wondering. 

"  I  think  it  would,  darling." 

Again  his  puzzled  look  went  over  to  Mr. 
Rushton;  and  it  said,  as  plainly  as  two  bright 
eyes  could  say  it,  "  How  can  papa  drink  it, 
then  ?  "  Mr.  Rushton  rose,  and  abruptly  left 
the  room. 

Mrs.  Rushton  left  the  table  also,  and  went 
to  the  window.  Amy  followed  her,  bidding 
Johnny  run  away  to  his  play. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Rushton,  feeling 
Amy's  arm  steal  round  her  waist,  "  that  the 
next  thing  will  be  to  give  up  the  wine.  To 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.  507 

be  sure,  I  don't  care  for  myself;  but  how 
will  a  table  look  without  wine?  In  Cum- 
mington  Square  too  !  "  Serious  as  the  sub 
ject  was,  Amy  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  Dear  mother,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it's  the 
privilege  of  Cummington  Square  to  be  inde 
pendent,  certainly." 

"  But  to  be  so  singular !  It  really  seems 
to  me  every  thing  is  getting  turned  round 
here  lately.  What  with  your  father  going 
to  church  and  to  prayer-meeting,  and  taking 
so  much  notice  of  your  brother,  which  is  cer 
tainly  —  you  will  excuse  my  saying  it,  Amy, 
—  very  far  from  being  as  aristocratic  as  he 
ought  to  be ;  and  now  the  wine,  I  really 
am  quite  turned  about  with  it  all." 

"  Dear  mother,"  said  Amy  with  a  little 
unconscious  sigh,  "  I  wish  we  might  all  be 
thoroughly  turned  about." 

"  It  isn't  that  I  don't  think  well  of  you, 
Amy,"  continued  Mrs.  Rushton.  "I  think 


508  BOUNDBROOK. 

you're  a  good  girl,  a  little  unsophisticated, 
perhaps,  for  Cummington  Square ;  but  you 
mean  well." 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,"  broke  in  Amy, 
"let  us  be  above  Cummington  Square.  O 
mother !  if  father  and  you  would  look  for  the 
best  good;  if  you  would  begin  to  live  for 
God ! " 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Rushton,  a  little  moved, 
"  you  have  said  that  to  me  a  great  many 
times.  Perhaps  I  really  ought  to  think 
about  it.  But  I  must  go  now." 

The  next  day  Johnny  looked  for  the  wine 
at  table  in  vain;  nor  did  it  appear  again. 
And  after  a  while  Gilbert  came  to  dine 
with  the  family.  But  no  one  knew  the  con 
flict  between  pride  and  conscience  in  Mr. 
Rushton's  soul,  nor  after  how  stubborn  a  re 
sistance  the  former  yielded. 

"  A  little  child  shall  lead  them." 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

THE    WIDENING    FIELD. 

^IGHWAY  and  hedge  work  is  delight 
ful  ;  and  in  the  sense  that  it  is  done 
for  the  dear  Lord,  who  is  preparing 
the  feast,  and  bids  us  gather  all  in,  it  is  sat 
isfying.  But  every  adverse  circumstance  is 
not  overcome  in  a  day.  Everybody  is  not 
immediately  brought  into  the  kingdom ;  nor 
is  every  wanderer  at  once  reclaimed  from  the 
paths  of  waywardness  and  vice,  and  set  on  his 
feet  with  a  new  song  in  his  mouth.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Rushton  are  not  yet  within  the  fold  ; 
nor  has  Gilbert  yet  acquired  a  thoroughly 
firm  and  self-sustaining  character,  though 

609 


510  BOUNDBROOK; 

every  day  finds  him  more  reliable,  because 
he  learns  to  be  more  humbly  dependent  upon 
the  true  Source  of  strength.  Neither  has 
Elsie  Bernhard,  in  her  motherly  care  for  Oli 
ver,  any  reason  to  think  that  he  yet  loves 
the  Redeemer,  whom  he  knows  intellectually 
so  well  through  her  own  and  her  brother's 
teaching.  Robert  goes  to  his  daily  work 
with  less  of  physical  strength,  so  evidently 
less,  that  Elsie's  heart  trembles  with  appre 
hension  ;  but  his  spirit  is  brighter,  and  his 
faith  stronger,  than  ever.  Still  the  seed  he 
sows  with  so  much  of  hearty  happiness  and 
fearlessness,  and  cherishes  with  almost  wo 
manly  tenderness,  does  not  all  spring  up  and 
bear  fruit.  When  Elsie  sometimes  asks  if  he 
is  not  discouraged  (and  she  does  it  that  she 
may  see  the  bright,  trustful  smile  illumine 
his  pale  face),  he  replies,  "  Never,  dear  sis 
ter.  I  am  working  for  a  Master  whose 
promises  are  too  rich  to  admit  of  that.  '  His 


OR,  AMY  ItUSIITON'S  MISSION.  oil 

word  shall  not  return  unto  him  void  ;  and  it 
shall  prosper  in  the  thing  whereunto  he 
sends  it.'  What  if  my  feeble  call  apparently 
fails  to  reach  some  ears,  shall  I  grow  so  dis 
heartened  as  not  to  be  able  to  raise  my  voice 
at  all  ?  This  is  God's  work,  not  mine  ;  and . 
I  am  content  to  remember  that  '  he  seeth  the 
end  from  the  beginning.'  " 

Nor  less  trustfully  does  Amy  repeat  the 
promises  to  herself.  Long  ago  she  put  all 
her  anxiety  for  her  dear  father  and  her 
mother  into  Christ's  hands ;  for  the  burden 
grew  too  heavy  to  be  borne.  So  now  she  is 
not  surprised  when  she  finds  her  father  at 
his  library-table  with  an  open  Bible,  while 
his  cheeks  flush  and  his  eyes  soften  as  he 
looks  up  at  her ;  nor  when  she  sees  Mrs. 
Rushton's  moved  face  as  she  hears  Johnny's 
nightly  prayer;  for  Johnny  long  ago  won 
his  way  into  the  selfish,  weak  woman's 
heart,  and  the  Lord  may  give  it  to  the  little 


512  BOUNDBROOK; 

child  to  complete  the  work  that  other  hands 
began.  "  His  ways  are  higher  than  our 
ways,  and  his  thoughts  than  our  thoughts." 

Amy's  mission  has  not  been  that  of  a 
genius.  She  has  never,  any  more  than  has 
Robert  Bernhard,  startled  the  world  with 
heroic  deeds,  or  with  utterances  from  the 
platform ;  nor  has  she  ever  been  guilty  either 
of  poetical  or  prose  effusions,  other  than  the 
little  journal  of  long  ago,  the  simple  story, 
which  has  done  more  for  Mr.  Rushton  than 
either  of  them  know.  Safely  locked  in  his 
escritoire  still,  the  leaves  are  growing  slight 
ly  yellow  with  the  lapse  of  some  dozen 
years ;  but  it  possesses  for  him  the  same 
almost  sacred  interest.  The  time  is  coming 
when  he  will  share  that  interest  with  his 
wife. 

No,  Amy's  mission  has  been  so  like  the 
dew,  refreshing  every  thing  within  its  range, 
so  silent  almost,  yet  so  all-pervading  in  her 


OK,  AMf  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.          513 

quiet,  happy  sincerity,  so  winning  in  her 
quick  sympathy,  so  wise  in  her  continual 
drawing  nearer  to  Christ  her  Master,  that  it 
is  hard  to  tell  of  any  great  thing  she  has 
done.  It  has  been  all  doing,  and  the  threads 
of  her  working  life  are  so  closely  interwoven, 
that  it  presents  only  one  unbroken,  clear 
surface  ;  yet  what  light  springs  from  it !  It 
brightens  homes  and  weary  faces  in  the 
streets  and  lanes  of  the  city  where  she  has 
been  with  her  sunshiny  presence  and  delicate 
words  of  comfort ;  and  out  in  the  country 
homes  about  Boundbrook,  where  she  was 
never  idle,  her  name  is  almost  reverently 
spoken.  And  what  shall  we  say  of  her 
home-work?  —  of  the  father,  and,  yes,  the 
mother  too,  who  cling  to  her  so  closely ;  of 
Ellen,  who  cares  for  her  with  tenderest 
love ;  of  Johnny,  and  the  brother  who 
wonderingly  praises  God  every  day  for  the 
darling  sister  who  makes  life  so  bright  ?  Yet 


33 


614  BOUNDBROOK; 

her  mission  may  be  told  in  the  words  she 
quoted  from  Mr.  Ellery  when  a  little  girl, 
"  to  be  as  nearly  like  Christ  as  possible,  and 
to  love  everybody  for  his  sake."  And  that 
we  can  all  do. 

But  there  is  one  more  scene  to  describe, 
and  our  work  is  finished.  Since  tlie  events 
of  the  last  chapter,  a  year  or  so  has  passed ; 
and,  on  this  bright  morning  in  October,  let 
us  go  down  to  the  wharf  where  Gilbert  was 
once  wont  to  go.  A  large  ship,  full  freight 
ed,  and  bound  for  Calcutta,  waits  the  signal 
for  departure.  Numbers  of  people,  many 
not  unfamiliar  to  us,  are  passing  back  and 
forth  with  interested  faces  and  quiet  talk. 

But  here,  near  the  cabin,  gathered  around 
a  young  man  whom  we  can  not  fail  to  recog 
nize  as  Bertram  Morley,  and  a  young  lady 
who  leans  on  his  arm,  are  a  group  we  surely 
know.  There  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival, 
Mr.  Ellery,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rushton  (whose 


07?,  AMY  IWSnTON'S  MISSION.  515 

'nerves  are  manifestly  growing  stronger), 
Amy  and  Gilbert,  Ellen,  and,  yes,  Robert, 
Elsie,  and  Oliver.  The  one  strong  tie  of 

• 

Christian  brotherhood  has  brought  all  these 
together ;  and  there  is  no  foolish  distinction 
of  wealth  to  keep  them  coldly  apart.  "  The 
rich  and  the  poor  meet  together;  and  the 
Lord  is  Maker  of  them  all." 

Here,  too,  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morley,  whose 
acquaintance  we  have  never  made ;  and  Mrs. 
Burns,  Maggie's  mother,  giving  up  her  last 
daughter  to  help  Bertram  in  his  chosen 
work ;  and  within  the  circle,  also,  Mary  and 
Esther  Clay. 

"  Sister  Amy,"  Bertram  said  to  her  as  she 
was  near  him,  "  can  it  be  wrong  to  wonder, 
even  at  such  an  hour,  if  Maggie  knows 
this?" 

She  could  not  answer  except  with  a  tear 
ful  smile.  Mr.  Ellery,  who  had  heard  it, 
drew  nearer.  "  It  can  not  be  wrong,"  he 


516  BOUNDBROOK; 

said ;  "  but,  if  she  does,  she  sees  the  glorious 
work  more  clearly  than  we.  Oh,  dear  friends, 
what  a  joy  to  carry  our  Master's  word  to 
the  land  of  darkness !  'But  the  Lord  shall 
arise  upon  that  land,  and  his  glory  shall  be 
seen  upon  it.  So  shall  they  fear  the  name 
of  the  Lord  from  the  west,  and  his  glory 
from  the  rising  of  the  sun.' >: 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  vessel.  It  was 
nearly  time  that  she  should  sail.  Mr.  Ellery 
was  asked  to  lead  in  prayer ;  and,  after  it 
was  concluded,  from  a  hundred  voices  rose 
the  triumphant  hymn  beginning,  — 

"  Yes,  my  native  land,  I  love  thee ; 

All  thy  scenes,  I  love  them  well : 
Friends,  connections,  happy  country, 
Can  I  bid  you  all  farewell  ? 

Can  I  leave  you, 
Far  in  heathen  lands  to  dwell  ?  " 

The  friewds  silently  left  the  ship,  a  few 
lingering  for  the  last  word,  —  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


07?,  AMY  RUSHl'ON'S  MISSION.  517 

Morley,  Mrs.  Burns,  Mr.  Ellery  and  Amy 
also ;  for  Bertram  was  as  a  brother  to  them 
both. 

The  signal  was  given.  They  returned  to 
the  wharf,  and  watched  the  receding  ship 
with  dim  eyes,  as  she  bore  away  dearly-loved 
ones.  But  with  Christian  trust  they  said, 
"  They  are  gone  for  our  Master's  service  :  we 
can  give  them  up  joyfully  to  that."  Gath 
ered  closely  together,  they  stood  on  the  shore, 
and,  until  the  widening  distance  shut  out  the 
sight,  discerned  and  answered  the  waving 
handkerchiefs  of  two  figures  who  stood  by 
each  other  on  the  deck. 

The  last  faint  flutter  was  lost  in  the  dis 
tance,  and  Bertram  Morley  and  his  young 
wife  were  out  on  the  blue  deep,  eager  to 
reach  the  land  where  they  longed  to  labor, 
and  strong  in  their  faith  that  God's  presence 
would  be  with  them  in  their  coveted  work. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percival,  with  Mr.  Ellery, 


518  BOUNDBROOK; 

went  home  with  jheir  friends  to  Cummington 
Square.  Aftei  dinner  Mr.  Ellery  came  to 
Amy. 

"  Amy,"  said  he,  "  I  have  a  great  favor  to 
ask  of  you.  Since  I  give  up  my  work  at 
Dayton  to-day,  will  you  show  me  yours  ?  " 

"  But  mine  is  so  little,  compared  with 
that,"  she  answered  humbly. 

"  Whom  do  you  serve  ?  "  he  asked,  his 
eyes  meeting  hers  with  the  old  look  of  intel 
ligent  sympathy. 

"  Yes,  you  shall  see  it,"  she  said. 

Together  they  went  out  among  Amy's 
"  poor  people,"  as  Mrs.  Rushton  always  called 
them.  It  was  Amy's  usual  day  for  her  visits ; 
but  to-day  Ellen  was  content  to  remain  at 
home,  and  let  Mr.  Ellery  carry  the  basket. 
It  was  growing  dark  when  the  basket  was 
emptied,  and  they  set  their  faces  homeward. 
"  So  may  we  go  home  when  our  life-work  is 
done,"  observed  Mr.  Ellery,  "  like  tired 


OR,  AMY  RUSHTON'S  MISSION.          519 

children,  as  I  hope  we  shall  be,  ready  for  the 
rest  in  our  Father's  arms." 

But  Amy  had  no  answer  for  this,  as  she 
seldom  had  for  any  thing  that  moved  her 
tenderly. 

"  I  have  learned  a  great  deal  this  after 
noon,"  was  Mr.  Ellery's  next  remark,  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

"  I  always  do,  Mr.  Ellery,"  said  Amy 
innocently.  "  It  is  more  to  me  than  to  them, 
after  all." 

"  But  I  did  not  mean  that,"  he  said ;  and 
she  knew  by  his  tone  as  he  spoke,  that  he 
was  looking  down  at  her,  and  smiling.  "  I 
have  been  learning  more  fully  what  my  par 
ish  needs.  Dear  child,  I  have  told  you  before 
that  I  was  waiting  for  one  of  my  little  schol 
ars  to  come  and  help  me  there.  How  much 
longer  do  you  think  I  can  afford  to  wait  ?  " 

And  he  did  not  wait  long. 

THE  E.JD. 


3. 
j 


I 


t  it 


